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CHATEAU  AND  COUNTRY  LIFE 
IN  FRANCE 


BOOKS  BY  MADAME  WADDINGTON 
Published    by   CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 


Chateau  and  Country  Life  in  France.  With 

24  full-page  illustrations.    8vo,    .    net    $2.50 


Italian  Letters  of  a  Diplomat's  Wife.   With 

24  full-page  illustrations.    8vo,    .    net    $2.50 

Letters  of  a  Diplomat's  Wife.    With  25 

full-page  illustrations.    8vo,     .    .    net    $2.50 


»   »  ',»    » 


A  country  wedding.— Page  26. 


CHATEAU  AND  COUNTRY 
LIFE  IN  FRANCE 


vt 
MARY  KING  WADDINGTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "LETTERS  OF  A  DIPLOMAT'S  WIFE  "  AND  "ITALIAN  LETTERS 
OF  A  DIPLOMATS  WIFE" 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1909 


COPVRIGHT,  1908,  BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1908 

Second  Impression,  December,  1908 
Third  Impression,  January,  1909 


•    -  •    • 


JJ 


CONTENTS 

I.  Chateau  Life ^     .  3 

II.  Country  Visits 36 

in.  The  Home  of  Lafayette 88 

rV.  Winter  at  the  Chateau 105 

V.  Ceremonies  and  Festivals 144 

VI.  Christmas  in  the  Valois 200 

VII.  A  Racine  Celebration  .          229 

VIII.  A  Corner  of  Normandy 252 

IX.  A  Norman  Town .     .  272 

X.  Norman  Chateaux 291 

XL  Boulogne-sub-Mer  ,«.,..     c     •  309 


226741 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  COUNTRY  WEDDING FRONTISPIECE. 

VACING  PAGE 

A  FINE  OLD  Chateau 2 

I  LOVED  to  hear  HER  PLAY  BeETHOVEN  AND  HaNDEL      .  .         6 

There  were  all  sorts  and  kinds 18 

Ferdinand 34 

"Merci,  je  vais  bien" 38 

Long  pauses  when  nobody  seemed  to  have  anything  to 

SAY 42 

Then  he  lighted  a  fire      .        , 46 

I  suggested  that  the  whole  chasse  should  adjourn  to 
THE  Chateau 130 

Some  red-coated,  some  green,  all  with  breeches  and 

HIGH  muddy  boots 134 

Peasant  women 142 

A  visit  at  the  Chateau 154 

Soldiers  at  the  Chateau 170 

The  Mayor  and  a  nice,   red-cheeked,  wrinkled  old 
woman  were  waiting  for  us        .       .       .       .       .  206 

There  was  one  handsome  bit  of  old  lace  on  a  white 
nappe  for  the  altar 214 

They  WERE  ALL  streaming  UP  THE  SLIPPERY  HILL-SIDE     .  .   218 

All  THE  CHILDREN   IN   PROCESSION   PASSED     ....   222 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

There  was  one  poor  old  woman  still  gazing  spell-bound  .  226 

L'Etablissement,  Bagnoles  de  l'Orne       ....  256 

In  Domfront  some  of  the  old  towers  are  converted  into 
modern  dwellings 260 

Chateau  de  Lassay 264 

Entrance  to  hotel  of  the  Comte  de  Floioan         .        .  274 

Market  women,  Valognes 280 

Old  gate-way,  Valognes 288 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

MY  first  experience  of  country  life  in  France, 
about  thirty  years  ago,  was  in  a  fine  old 
chateau  standing  high  in  pretty,  undulating, 
wooded  country  close  to  the  forest  of  Villers-Cot- 
terets,  and  overlooking  the  great  plains  of  the 
Oise — big  green  fields  stretching  away  to  the  sky- 
line, broken  occasionally  by  little  clumps  of  wood, 
with  steeples  rising  out  of  the  green,  marking  the 
villages  and  hamlets  which,  at  intervals,  are  scat- 
tered over  the  plains,  and  in  the  distance  the  blue 
line  of  the  forest.  The  chateau  was  a  long,  per- 
fectly simple,  white  stone  building.  When  I  first 
saw  it,  one  bright  November  afternoon,  I  said  to 
my  husband  as  we  drove  up,  "What  a  charming 
old  wooden  house!"  which  remark  so  astonished 
him  that  he  could  hardly  explain  that  it  was  all 
stone,  and  that  no  big  houses  (nor  small,  either) 
in  France  were  built  of  wood.  I,  having  been 
born  in  a  large  white  wooden  house  in  America, 
couldn't  understand  why  he  was  so  horrified  at  my 

[3] 


/'.ri/QHATEATJ/t^^      IN  FRANCE 

ignorance  of  French  architecture.  It  was  a  fine 
old  house,  high  in  the  centre,  with  a  lower  wing 
on  each  side.  There  were  three  drawing-rooms, 
a  library,  billiard-room,  and  dining-room  on  the 
ground  floor.  The  large  drawing-room,  where  we 
always  sat,  ran  straight  through  the  house,  with 
glass  doors  opening  out  on  the  lawn  on  the  en- 
trance side  and  on  the  other  into  a  long  gallery 
which  ran  almost  the  whole  length  of  the  house. 
It  was  always  filled  with  plants  and  flowers,  open 
in  summer,  with  awnings  to  keep  out  the  sun; 
shut  in  winter  with  glass  windows,  and  warmed 
by  one  of  the  three  caloriferes  of  the  house.  In 
front  of  the  gallery  the  lawn  sloped  down  to  the 
wall,  which  separated  the  place  from  the  highroad. 
A  belt  of  fine  trees  marked  the  path  along  the  wall 
and  shut  out  the  road  completely,  except  in  certain 
places  where  an  opening  had  been  made  for  the  view. 
We  were  a  small  party  for  such  a  big  house: 
only  the  proprietor  and  his  wife  (old  people),  my 
husband  and  myself.  The  life  was  very  simple, 
almost  austere.  The  old  people  lived  in  the  centre 
of  the  chateau,  W.*  and  I  in  one  of  the  wings.  It 
had  been  all  fitted  up  for  us,  and  was  a  charming 
little  house.  W.  had  the  ground-floor — a  bed- 
room, dressing-room,  cabinet  de  travail,  dining- 

*  W.  here  and  throughout  this  volume  refers  to  Mme.  Waddington's 
husband,  M.  William  Waddington. 

[4] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

room,  and  a  small  room,  half  reception-room,  half 
library,  where  he  had  a  large  bookcase  filled  with 
books,  which  he  gave  away  as  prizes  or  to  school 
libraries.  The  choice  of  the  books  always  inter- 
ested me.  They  were  principally  translations, 
English  and  American — Walter  Scott,  Marryat, 
Fenimore  Cooper,  etc.  The  bedroom  and  cabinet 
de  travail  had  glass  doors  opening  on  the  park.  I 
had  the  same  rooms  upstairs,  giving  one  to  my 
maid,  for  I  was  nervous  at  being  so  far  away  from 
anyone.  M.  and  Mme.  A.  and  all  the  servants 
were  at  the  other  end  of  the  house,  and  there  were 
no  bells  in  our  wing  (nor  anywhere  else  in  the 
house  except  in  the  dining-room) .  When  I  wanted 
a  work-woman  who  was  sewing  in  the  lingerie  I 
had  to  go  up  a  steep  little  winding  staircase,  which 
connected  our  wing  with  the  main  building,  and 
walk  the  whole  length  of  the  gallery  to  the  lingerie, 
which  was  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  other  wing. 
I  was  very  fond  of  my  rooms.  The  bedroom  and 
sitting-room  opened  on  a  balcony  with  a  lovely 
view  over  wood  and  park.  When  I  sat  there  in 
the  morning  with  my  petit  dejeuner — cup  of  tea 
and  roll — ^I  could  see  all  that  went  on  in  the  place. 
First  the  keeper  would  appear,  a  tall,  handsome 
man,  rather  the  northern  type,  with  fair  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  his  gun  always  over  his  shoulder,  sa- 
coche  at  his  side,  swinging  along  with  the  free, 

[5] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

vigorous  step  of  a  man  accustomed  to  walk  all 
day.  Then  Hubert,  the  coachman,  would  come 
for  orders,  two  little  fox-terriers  always  accom- 
panying him,  playing  and  barking,  and  rolling 
about  on  the  grass.  Then  the  farmer's  wife, 
driving  herself  in  her  gig,  and  bringing  cheese, 
butter,  milk,  and  sometimes  chickens  when  our 
bassecour  was  getting  low.  A  little  later  another 
lot  would  appear,  people  from  the  village  or  can- 
ton, wanting  to  see  their  deputy  and  have  all  man- 
ner of  grievances  redressed.  It  was  curious  some- 
times to  make  out,  at  the  end  of  a  long  story,  told 
in  peasant  dialect,  with  many  digressions,  what 
particular  service  notre  depute  was  expected  to 
render.  I  was  present  sometimes  at  some  of  the 
conversations,  and  was  astounded  at  W.'s  patience 
and  comprehension  of  what  was  wanted — I  never 
understood  half. 

We  generally  had  our  day  to  ourselves.  We 
rode  almost  every  morning — long,  delicious  gallops 
in  the  woods,  the  horses  going  easily  and  lightly 
over  the  grass  roads;  and  the  days  W.  was  away 
and  couldn't  ride,  I  used  to  walk  about  the  park 
and  gardens.  The  kitchen  garden  was  enormous — 
almost  a  park  in  itself — and  in  the  season  I  eat 
pounds  of  white  grapes,  which  ripened  to  a  fine 
gold  color  on  the  walls  in  the  sun.  We  rarely  saw 
M.  and  Mme.  A.  until  twelve-o'clock  breakfast. 

[6] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

Sometimes  when  it  was  fine  we  would  take  a 
walk  with  the  old  people  after  breakfast,  but  we 
generally  spent  our  days  apart.  M.  and  Mme. 
A.  were  charming  people,  intelligent,  cultivated, 
reading  everything  and  keeping  quite  in  touch  with 
all  the  literary  and  Protestant  world,  but  they  had 
lived  for  years  entirely  in  the  country,  seeing  few 
people,  and  living  for  each  other.  The  first  even- 
ings at  the  chateau  made  a  great  impression  upon 
me.  We  dined  at  7:30,  and  always  sat  after  din- 
ner in  the  big  drawing-room.  There  was  one 
lamp  on  a  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
(all  the  corners  shrouded  in  darkness).  M.  and 
Mme.  A.  sat  in  two  arm-chairs  opposite  to  each 
other,  Mme.  A.  with  a  green  shade  in  front  of  her. 
Her  eyes  were  very  bad;  she  could  neither  read 
nor  work.  She  had  been  a  beautiful  musician, 
and  still  played  occasionally,  by  heart,  the  classics. 
I  loved  to  hear  her  play  Beethoven  and  Handel, 
such  a  delicate,  old-fashioned  touch.  Music  was 
at  once  a  bond  of  union.  I  often  sang  for  her,  and 
she  liked  everything  I  sang — Italian  stornelli,  old- 
fashioned  American  negro  songs,  and  even  the  very 
light  modern  French  chansonnette,  when  there  was 
any  melody  in  them.  There  were  two  other  arm- 
chairs at  the  table,  destined  for  W.  and  me.  I 
will  say  W.  never  occupied  his.  He  would  sit  for 
about  half  an  hour  with  M.  A.  and  talk  politics  or 

[7] 


l^ 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

local  matters  with  him,  but  after  that  he  departed 
to  his  own  quarters,  and  I  remained  with  the  old 
people.  I  felt  very  strange  at  first,  it  was  so  unlike 
anything  I  had  ever  seen,  so  different  from  my 
home  life,  where  we  were  a  happy,  noisy  family, 
always  one  of  the  party,  generally  two,  at  the 
piano,  everybody  laughing,  talking,  and  enjoying 
life,  and  always  a  troop  of  visitors,  cousins  in- 
numerable and  friends. 

It  was  a  curious  atmosphere.  I  can't  say  dull 
exactly,  for  both  M.  and  Mme.  A.  were  clever, 
and  the  discussions  over  books,  politics,  and  life 
generally,  were  interesting,  but  it  was  serious,  no 
vitality,  nothing  gay,  no  power  of  enjoyment. 
They  had  had  a  great  grief  in  their  lives  in  the  loss 
of  an  only  daughter,*  which  had  left  permanent 
traces.  They  were  very  kind  and  did  their  best 
to  make  me  feel  at  home,  and  after  the  first  few 
evenings  I  didn't  mind.  M.  A.  had  always  been 
in  the  habit  of  reading  aloud  to  his  wife  for  an 
hour  every  evening  after  dinner — the  paper,  an 
article  in  one  of  the  reviews,  anything  she  liked. 
I  liked  that,  too,  and  as  I  felt  more  at  home  used 
to  discuss  everything  with  M.  A.  He  was  quite 
horrified  one  evening  when  I  said  I  didn't  like 
Moliere,  didn't  believe  anybody  did  (particularly 
foreigners),  unless  they  had  been  brought  up  to  it. 

*W.'s  first  wife. 
[8) 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

It  really  rather  worried  him.  He  proposed  to  read 
aloud  part  of  the  principal  plays,  which  he  chose 
very  carefully,  and  ended  by  making  a  regular 
cours  de  Moliere.  He  read  charmingly,  with 
much  spirit,  bringing  out  every  touch  of  humour 
and  fancy,  and  I  was  obliged  to  say  I  found  it  most 
interesting.  We  read  all  sorts  of  things  besides 
Moliere — Lundis  de  Ste.-Beuve,  Chateaubriand, 
some  splendid  pages  on  the  French  Revolution, 
Taine,  Guizot,  Mme.  de  Stael,  Lamartine,  etc., 
and  sometimes  rather  light  memoirs  of  the  Re- 
gence  and  the  light  ladies  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, who  apparently  mixed  up  politics,  religion, 
literature,  and  lovers  in  the  most  simple  style. 
These  last  readings  he  always  prepared  beforehand, 
and  I  was  often  surprised  at  sudden  transitions 
and  unfinished  conversations  which  meant  that  he 
had  suppressed  certain  passages  which  he  judged 
too  improper  for  general  reading. 

He  read,  one  evening,  a  charming  feuilleton  of 
George  Sand.  It  began:  *'Le  Baron  avait  cause 
politique  toute  la  soiree,"  which  conversation  ap- 
parently so  exasperated  the  baronne  and  a  young 
cousin  that  they  wandered  out  into  the  village, 
which  they  immediately  set  by  the  ears.  The 
cousin  was  an  excellent  mimic  of  all  animals' 
noises.  He  barked  so  loud  and  so  viciously  that 
he  started  all  the  dogs  in  the  village,  who  went 


y 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

nearly  mad  with  excitement,  and  frightened  the 
inhabitants  out  of  their  wits.  Every  window  was 
opened,  the  cure,  the  garde  champetre,  the  school- 
master, all  peering  out  anxiously  into  the  night, 
and  asking  what  was  happening.  Was  it  tramps, 
or  a  travelling  circus,  or  a  bear  escaped  from  his 
showman,  or  perhaps  a  wolf.^  I  have  wished 
sometimes  since,  when  I  have  heard  various  barons 
talking  politics,  that  I,  too,  could  wander  out  into 
the  night  and  seek  distraction  outside. 

It  was  a  serious  life  in  the  big  chateau.  There 
was  no  railway  anywhere  near,  and  very  little 
traffic  on  the  highroad.  After  nightfall  a  mantle 
of  silence  seemed  to  settle  on  the  house  and  park — 
that  absolute  silence  of  great  spaces  where  you 
almost  hear  your  own  heart  beat.  W.  went  to 
Paris  occasionally,  and  usually  came  back  by  the 
last  train,  getting  to  the  chateau  at  midnight.  I 
always  waited  for  him  upstairs  in  my  little  salon, 
and  the  silence  was  so  oppressive  that  the  most 
ordinary  noise — a  branch  blowing  across  a  window- 
pane,  or  a  piece  of  charred  wood  falling  on  the 
hearth — sounded  like  a  cannon  shot  echoing 
through  the  long  corridor.  It  was  a  relief  when  I 
heard  the  trot  of  his  big  mare  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
quite  fifteen  minutes  before  he  turned  into  the  park 
gates.  He  has  often  told  me  how  long  and  still  the 
evenings  and  nights  were  during  the  Franco-Prus- 

[10] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

sian  War.  He  remained  at  the  chateau  all  through 
the  war  with  the  old  people.  After  Sedan  almost 
the  whole  Prussian  army  passed  the  chateau  on 
their  way  to  Versailles  and  Paris.  The  big  white 
house  was  seen  from  a  long  distance,  so,  as  soon  as 
it  was  dark,  all  the  wooden  shutters  on  the  side  of 
the  highroad  were  shut,  heavy  curtains  drawn,  and 
strict  orders  given  to  have  as  little  light  as  possible. 
He  was  sitting  in  his  library  one  evening  about 
dusk,  waiting  for  the  man  to  bring  his  lamp  and 
shut  the  shutters,  having  had  a  trying  day  with  the 
peasants,  who  were  all  frightened  and  nervous  at 
the  approach  of  the  Germans.  He  was  quite  ab- 
sorbed in  rather  melancholy  reflections  when  he 
suddenly  felt  that  someone  was  looking  in  at  the 
window  (the  library  was  on  the  ground-floor,  with 
doors  and  windows  opening  on  the  park).  He 
rose  quickly,  going  to  the  window,  as  he  thought 
one  of  the  village  people  wanted  to  speak  to  him, 
and  was  confronted  by  a  Pickelhaube  and  a  round 
German  face  flattened  against  the  window-pane. 
He  opened  the  window  at  once,  and  the  man  poured 
forth  a  torrent  of  German,  which  W.  fortunately 
understood.  While  he  was  talking  W.  saw  forms, 
their  muskets  and  helmets  showing  out  quite  dis- 
tinctly in  the  half-light,  crossing  the  lawn  and  com- 
ing up  some  of  the  broad  paths.  It  was  a  disagree- 
able sight,  which  he  was  destined  to  see  many  times. 

[11] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

It  was  wonderful  what  exact  information  the 
Germans  had.  They  knew  all  the  roads,  all  the 
villages  and  little  hamlets,  the  big  chateaux,  and 
most  of  the  small  mills  and  farms.  There  were 
still  traces  of  the  German  occupation  when  I  went 
to  that  part  of  the  country;  an  some  of  the  walls 
and  houses  marks  in  red  paint — "4  Pferde,  12 
Manner."  They  generally  wanted  food  and  lodging, 
which  they  usually  (not  always)  paid  for.  Wher- 
ever they  found  horses  they  took  them,  but  M.  A. 
and  W.  had  sent  all  theirs  away  except  one  saddle- 
horse,  which  lived  in  a  stable  in  the  woods  near  the 
house.  In  Normandy,  near  Rouen,  at  my  brother- 
in-law's  place,  they  had  German  oflScers  and  sol- 
diers quartered  for  a  long  time.  They  instantly 
took  possession  of  horses  and  carriages,  and  my 
sister-in-law,  toiling  up  a  steep  hill,  would  be  passed 
by  her  own  carriage  and  horses  filled  with  German 
officers.  However,  on  the  whole,  W.  said,  the  Ger- 
mans, as  a  victorious  invading  army,  behaved  well, 
the  officers  always  perfectly  polite,  and  keeping  their 
men  in  good  order.  They  had  all  sorts  and  kinds 
at  the  chateau.  They  rarely  remained  long — used 
to  appear  at  the  gate  in  small  bands  of  four  or  five, 
with  a  sous-officier,  who  always  asked  to  see  either 
the  proprietor  or  someone  in  authority.  He  said 
how  many  men  and  horses  he  wanted  lodged  and 
fed,  and  announced  the  arrival,  a  little  later,  of 

[12] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

several  oflficers  to  dine  and  sleep.  They  were 
always  received  by  M.  A.  or  W.,  and  the  same 
conversation  took  place  every  time.  They  were 
told  the  servant  would  show  them  their  rooms,  and 
their  dinner  would  be  served  at  any  hour  they 
wished.  They  replied  that  they  would  have  the 
honour  of  waiting  upon  the  ladies  of  the  family  as 
soon  as  they  had  made  a  little  toilette  and  removed 
the  dust  of  the  route,  and  that  they  would  be  very 
happy  to  dine  with  the  family  at  their  habitual 
hour.  They  were  then  told  that  the  ladies  didn't 
receive,  and  that  the  family  dined  alone.  They 
were  always  annoyed  at  that  answer.  As  a  rule 
they  behaved  well,  but  occasionally  there  would 
be  some  rough  specimens  among  the  officers. 

W.  was  coming  home  one  day  from  his  usual 
round  just  before  nightfall,  when  he  heard  loud 
voices  and  a  great  commotion  in  the  hall — M.  A. 
and  one  or  two  German  officers.  The  old  man 
very  quiet  and  dignified,  the  Germans  most  in- 
sulting, with  threats  of  taking  him  off  to  prison. 
W.  interfered  at  once,  and  learned  from  the  irate 
officers  what  was  the  cause  of  the  quarrel.  They 
had  asked  for  champagne  (with  the  usual  idea  of 
foreigners  that  champagne  flowed  through  all 
French  chateaux),  and  M.  A.  had  said  there  was 
none  in  the  house.  They  knew  better,  as  some  of 
their  men  had  seen  champagne  bottles  in  the  cel- 

[13] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

lar.  W.  said  there  was  certainly  a  mistake — there 
was  none  in  the  house.  They  again  became  most 
insolent  and  threatening — said  they  would  take 
them  both  to  prison.  W.  suggested,  wouldn't  it 
be  better  to  go  .down  the  cellar  with  him  ?  Then 
they  could  see  for  themselves  there  was  none. 
Accordingly  they  all  adjourned  to  the  cellar  and 
W.  saw  at  once  what  had  misled  them — a  quantity 
of  bottles  of  eau  de  Seidlitz,  rather  like  champagne 
bottles  in  shape.  They  pointed  triumphantly  to 
these  and  asked  what  he  meant  by  saying  there  was 
no  champagne,  and  told  their  men  to  carry  off  the 
bottles.  W.  said  again  it  was  not  champagne — he 
didn't  believe  they  would  like  it.  They  were  quite 
sure  they  had  found  a  prize,  and  all  took  copious 
draughts  of  the  water — with  disastrous  results,  as 
they  heard  afterward  from  the  servants. 

Later,  during  the  armistice  and  Prussian  occu- 
pation, there  were  soldiers  quartered  all  around 
the  chateau,  and,  of  course,  there  were  many  dis- 
tressing scenes.  All  our  little  village  of  Louvry, 
near  our  farm,  had  taken  itself  off  to  the  woods. 
They  were  quite  safe  there,  as  the  Prussians  never 
came  into  the  woods  on  account  of  the  sharp- 
shooters. W.  said  their  camp  was  comfortable 
enough — they  had  all  their  household  utensils, 
beds,  blankets,  donkeys,  and  goats,  and  could 
make  fires  in  the  clearing  in  the  middle  of  the 

[14] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

wooas.  They  were  mostly  women  and  children, 
only  a  very  few  old  men  and  young  boys  left.  The 
poor  things  were  terrified  by  the  Germans  and 
Bismarck,  of  whom  they  had  made  themselves  an 
extraordinary  picture.  "Monsieur  sait  que  Bis- 
marck tue  tous  les  enfants  pour  qu'il  n'y  ait  plus 
de  Fran9ais."  (Monsieur  knows  that  Bismarck 
kills  all  the  children  so  that  there  shall  be  no  more 
French.)  The  boys  kept  W.  in  a  fever.  They 
had  got  some  old  guns,  and  were  always  hovering 
about  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  trying  to  have  a 
shot  at  a  German.  He  was  very  uncomfortable 
himself  at  one  time  during  the  armistice,  for  he 
was  sending  ofiF  parties  of  recruits  to  join  one  of  the 
big  corps  d'armee  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  they 
all  passed  at  the  chateau  to  get  their  money  and 
feuille  de  route,  which  was  signed  by  him.  He 
sent  them  ofiF  in  small  bands  of  four  or  five,  always 
through  the  woods,  with  a  line  to  various  keepers 
and  farmers  along  the  route,  who  could  be  trusted, 
and  would  help  them  to  get  on  and  find  their  way. 
Of  course,  if  anyone  of  them  had  been  taken  with 
W.'s  signature  and  recommendation  on  him,  the 
Germans  would  have  made  short  work  of  W., 
which  he  was  quite  aware  of;  so  every  night  for 
weeks  his  big  black  Irish  horse  Paddy  was  saddled 
and  tied  to  a  certain  tree  in  one  of  the  narrow 
alleys  of  the  big  park — the  branches  so  thick  and 

115] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

low  that  it  was  difficult  to  pass  in  broad  daylight, 
and  at  night  impossible,  except  for  him  who  knew 
every  inch  of  the  ground.  With  five  minutes'  start, 
if  the  alarm  had  been  given,  he  could  have  got 
away  into  his  own  woods,  where  he  knew  no  one 
would  follow  him. 

Hubert,  the  old  coachman,  used  often  to  talk  to 
me  about  all  that  troubled  time.  When  the  weather 
was  dark  and  stormy  he  used  to  stay  himself  half 
the  night,  starting  at  every  sound,  and  there  are  so 
many  sounds  in  the  woods  at  night,  all  sorts  of 
wild  birds  and  little  animals  that  one  never  hears 
in  the  daytime — sometimes  a  rabbit  would  dart 
out  of  a  hole  and  whisk  round  a  corner;  sometimes 
a  big  buse  (sort  of  eagle)  would  fly  out  of  a  tree  with 
great  flapping  of  wings;  occasionally  a  wild-cat 
with  bright-green  eyes  would  come  stealthily  along 
and  then  make  a  flying  leap  over  the  bushes.  His 
nerves  were  so  unstrung  that  every  noise  seemed  a 
danger,  and  he  had  visions  of  Germans  lying  in 
ambush  in  the  woods,  waiting  to  pounce  upon  W. 
if  he  should  appear.  He  said  Paddy  was  so  wise, 
seemed  to  know  that  he  must  be  perfectly  quiet, 
never  kicked  nor  snorted. 

It  was  impossible  to  realise  those  dreadful  days 
when  we  were  riding  and  walking  in  the  woods, 
so  enchanting  in  the  early  summer,  with  thousands 
of  lilies  of  the  valley  and  periwinkles  growing  wild, 

[16] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

and  a  beautiful  blue  flower,  a  sort  of  orchid.  We 
used  to  turn  all  the  village  children  into  the  woods, 
and  they  picked  enormous  bunches  of  lilies,  which 
stood  all  over  the  chateau  in  china  bowls.  I 
loved  the  wood  life  at  all  seasons.  I  often  made 
the  round  with  W.  and  his  keepers  in  the  autumn 
when  he  was  preparing  a  battue.  The  men  were 
very  keen  about  the  game,  knew  the  tracks  of  all 
the  animals,  showing  me  the  long  narrow  rabbit 
tracks,  running  a  long  distance  toward  the  quar- 
ries, which  were  full  of  rabbit  holes,  and  the  little 
delicate  hoof-marks  of  the  chevreuil  (roe-deer) 
just  where  he  had  jumped  across  the  road.  The 
wild  boar  was  easy  to  trace — little  twigs  broken, 
and  ferns  and  leaves  quite  crushed,  where  he  had 
passed.  The  wild  boars  and  stags  never  stayed 
very  long  in  our  woods — went  through  merely  to 
the  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets — so  it  was  most  im- 
portant to  know  the  exact  moment  of  their  pas- 
sage, and  there  was  great  pride  and  excitement 
when  one  was  taken. 

Another  interesting  moment  was  when  the  coupe 
de  Tannee  was  being  made.  Parts  of  the  woods 
were  cut  down  regularly  every  year,  certain  squares 
marked  off.  The  first  day's  work  was  the  mark- 
ing of  the  big  trees  along  the  alleys  which  were  to 
remain — a  broad  red  ring  around  the  trunks  being 
very   conspicuous.     Then   came  the  thinning  of 

[17] 


CHATEAU  LIFE   IN  FRANCE 

the  trees,  cutting  off  the  top  branches,  and  that  was 
really  a  curious  sight.  The  men  climbed  high 
into  the  tree,  and  then  hung  on  to  the  trunk  with 
iron  clamps  on  their  feet,  with  points  which  stuck 
into  the  bark,  and  apparently  gave  them  a  per- 
fectly secure  hold,  but  it  looked  dangerous  to  see 
them  swinging  off  from  the  trunk  with  a  sort  of  axe 
in  their  hands,  cutting  off  the  branches  with  a 
swift,  sharp  stroke.  When  they  finally  attacked 
the  big  trees  that  were  to  come  down  it  was  a  much 
longer  affair,  and  they  made  slow  progress.  They 
knew  their  work  well,  the  exact  moment  when  the 
last  blow  had  been  given,  and  they  must  spring 
aside  to  get  out  of  the  way  when  the  tree  fell  with 
a  great  crash. 
\/  There  were  usually  two  or  three  big  battues  in 
November  for  the  neighbouring  farmers  and  small 
proprietors.  The  breakfast  always  took  place  at 
the  keeper's  house.  We  had  arranged  one  room 
as  a  dining-room,  and  the  keeper's  wife  was  a  very 
good  cook ;  her  omelette  au  lard  and  civet  de  lievre, 
classic  dishes  for  a  shooting  breakfast,  were  ex- 
cellent. The  repast  always  ended  with  a  galette 
aux  amandes  made  by  the  chef  of  the  chateau.  I 
generally  went  down  to  the  kennels  at  the  end  of 
the  day,  and  it  was  a  pretty  sight  when  the  party 
emerged  from  the  woods,  first  the  shooters,  then  a 
regiment  of  beaters   (men  who  track  the  game), 

[18] 


e  _  c« •    c 


•    •  •••.« 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

the  game  cart  with  a  donkey  bringing  up  the  rear 
— the  big  game,  chevreuil  or  boar,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  cart,  the  hares  and  rabbits  hanging  from  the 
sides.  The  sportsmen  all  came  back  to  the  keep- 
er's lodge  to  have  a  drink  before  starting  oflE  on 
their  long  drive  home,  and  there  was  always  a 
great  discussion  over  the  entries  in  the  game  book 
and  the  number  of  pieces  each  man  had  killed.  It 
was  a  very  diflScult  account  to  make,  as  every  man 
counted  many  more  rabbits  than  the  trackers  had 
found,  so  they  were  obliged  to  make  an  average  of 
the  game  that  had  been  brought  in.  When  all  the 
guests  had  departed  it  was  killing  to  hear  the  old 
keeper's  criticisms. 

Another  important  function  was  a  large  break- 
fast to  all  the  mayors,  conseillers  d'arrondisse- 
ment,  and  rich  farmers  of  W.'s  canton.  That 
always  took  place  at  the  chateau,  and  Mme.  A. 
and  I  appeared  at  table.  There  were  all  sorts  and 
kinds — some  men  in  dress  coats  and  white  gloves, 
some  very  rough  specimens  in  corduroys  and  thick- 
nailed  shoes,  having  begun  life  as  gar9ons  de  ferme 
(ploughboys).  They  were  all  intelligent,  well  up 
in  politics,  and  expressed  themselves  very  well, 
but  I  think,  on  the  whole,  they  were  pleased  when 
Mme.  A.  and  I  withdrew  and  they  went  into  the 
gallery  for  their  coffee  and  cigars.  Mme.  A.  was 
extraordinarily  easy — talked  to  them  all.     They 

[19] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

came  in  exactly  the  same  sort  of  equipage,  a  light, 
high,  two-wheeled  trap  with  a  hood,  except  the 
Mayor  of  La  Ferte,  our  big  town,  who  came  in  his 
victoria. 

I  went  often  with  W.  to  some  of  the  big  farms 
to  see  the  sheep-shearing  and  the  dairies,  and 
/  cheese  made.  The  farmer's  wife  in  France  is  a 
very  capable,  hard-working  woman — up  early, 
seeing  to  everything  herself,  and  ruling  all  her 
carters  and  ploughboys  with  a  heavy  hand.  Once 
a  week,  on  market  day,  she  takes  her  cheeses  to 
the  market  town,  driving  herself  in  her  high  gig, 
and  several  times  I  have  seen  some  of  them  com- 
ing home  with  a  cow  tied  to  their  wagon  behind, 
which  they  had  bought  at  the  market.  They  were 
always  pleased  to  see  us,  delighted  to  show  any- 
thing we  wanted  to  see,  offered  us  refreshment — 
bread  and  cheese,  milk  and  wine — but  never  came 
to  see  me  at  the  chateau.  I  made  the  round  of  all 
the  chateaux  with  Mme.  A.  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  neighbours.  They  were  all  rather  far  off, 
but  I  loved  the  long  drives,  almost  always  through 
the  forest,  which  was  quite  beautiful  in  all  seasons, 
changing  like  the  sea.  It  was  delightful  in  midsum- 
mer, the  branches  of  the  big  trees  almost  meeting 
over  our  heads,  making  a  perfect  shade,  and  the 
long,  straight,  green  alleys  stretching  away  before  us, 
as  far  as  we  could  see.     When  the  wood  was  a  little 

[20] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

less  thick,  the  afternoon  sun  would  make  long 
zigzags  of  light  through  the  trees  and  trace  curious 
patterns  upon  the  hard  white  road  when  we 
emerged  occasionally  for  a  few  minutes  from  the 
depths  of  the  forest  at  a  cross-road.  It  was  per- 
fectly still,  but  summer  stillness,  when  one  hears 
the  buzzing  and  fluttering  wings  of  small  birds 
and  insects,  and  is  conscious  of  life  around  one. 

The  most  beautiful  time  for  the  forest  is,  of 
course,  in  the  autumn.  October  and  November 
are  lovely  months,  with  the  changing  foliage,  the 
red  and  yellow  almost  as  vivid  as  in  America,  and 
always  a  foreground  of  moss  and  brown  ferns, 
which  grow  very  thick  and  high  all  through  the 
forest.  We  used  to  drive  sometimes  over  a  thick 
carpet  of  red  and  yellow  leaves,  hardly  hearing  the 
horses'  hoofs  or  the  noise  of  the  wheels,  and  when 
we  turned  our  faces  homeward  toward  the  sunset 
there  was  really  a  glory  of  colour  in  wood  and  sky. 
It  was  always  curiously  lonely — we  rarely  met  any- 
thing or  anyone,  occasionally  a  group  of  wood- 
cutters or  boys  exercising  dogs  and  horses  from  the 
hunting-stables  of  Villers-Cotterets.  At  long  in- 
tervals we  would  come  to  a  keeper's  lodge,  stand- 
ing quite  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  gener- 
ally near  a  carrefour  where  several  roads  met. 
There  was  always  a  small  clearing — garden  and 
kennels,  and  a  perfectly  comfortable  house,  but  it 

[21] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

must  be  a  lonely  life  for  the  women  when  their 
husbands  are  off  all  day  on  their  rounds.  I  asked 
one  of  them  once,  a  pretty,  smiling  young  woman 
who  always  came  out  when  the  carriage  passed, 
with  three  or  four  children  hanging  to  her  skirts, 
if  she  was  never  afraid,  being  alone  with  small 
children  and  no  possibility  of  help,  if  any  drunk- 
ards or  evilly  disposed  men  came  along.  She  said 
no — that  tramps  and  vagabonds  never  came  into 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  and  always  kept  clear  of 
the  keeper's  house,  as  they  never  knew  where  he 
and  his  gun  might  be.  She  said  she  had  had  one 
awful  night  with  a  sick  child.  She  was  alone  in 
the  house  with  two  other  small  children,  almost 
babies,  while  her  husband  had  to  walk  several 
miles  to  get  a  doctor.  The  long  wait  was  terrible. 
I  got  to  know  all  the  keepers'  wives  on  our  side  of 
the  forest  quite  well,  and  it  was  always  a  great  in- 
terest to  them  when  we  passed  on  horseback,  so 
few  women  rode  in  that  part  of  France  in  those 
days. 

Sometimes,  when  we  were  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest,  a  stag  with  wide-spreading  antlers  would 
bound  across  the  road ;  sometimes  a  pretty  roebuck 
would  come  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  gallop 
quickly  back  as  we  got  near. 

We  had  a  nice  couple  at  the  lodge,  an  old  cav- 
alry soldier  who  had  been  for  years  coachman  at 

[22] 


A 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

the  chateau  and  who  had  married  a  Scotchwoman, 
nurse  of  one  of  the  children.  It  was  curious  to  see 
the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  the  Scotchwoman,  always 
dressed  in  a  short  linsey  skirt,  loose  jacket,  and 
white  cap,  in  the  midst  of  the  chattering,  excitable 
women  of  the  village.  She  looked  so  unlike  them. 
Our  peasant  women  wear,  too,  a  short  thick  skirt, 
loose  jacket,  and  worsted  or  knit  stockings,  but 
they  all  wear  sabots  and  on  their  heads  a  turban 
made  of  bright-coloured  cotton ;  the  older  women, 
of  course — the  girls  wear  nothing  on  their  heads. 
They  become  bent  and  wrinkled  very  soon — old 
women  before  their  time — ^having  worked  always  in 
the  fields  and  carried  heavy  burdens  on  their  backs. 
The  Scotchwoman  kept  much  to  herself  and  rarely 
left  the  park.  But  all  the  women  came  to  her  with 
their  troubles.  Nearly  always  the  same  story — ^the 
men  spending  their  earnings  on  drink  and  the  poor 
mothers  toiling  and  striving  from  dawn  till  dark  to 
give  the  little  ones  enough  to  eat.  She  was  a  strict 
Protestant,  very  taciturn  and  reserved,  quite  the 
type  of  the  old  Calvinist  race  who  fought  so  hard 
against  the  "Scarlet  Woman"  when  the  beautiful 
and  unhappy  Mary  Stuart  was  reigning  in  Scotland 
and  trying  to  rule  her  wild  subjects.  I  often  went 
to  see  her  and  she  would  tell  me  of  her  first  days  at 
the  chateau,  where  everything  was  so  diflferent  from 
what  she  was  accustomed  to. 

623] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

She  didn't  tell  me  what  Mme.  A.  did — ^that  she 
was  a  very  handsome  girl  and  all  the  men  of  the 
establishment  fell  in  love  with  her.  There  were 
dramas  of  jealousy  when  she  finally  decided  to 
marry  the  coachman.  Our  chef  had  learned  how 
to  make  various  English  cakes  in  London,  and 
whenever  he  made  buns  or  a  plum-pudding  we 
used  to  take  some  to  her.  She  was  a  great  reader, 
and  we  always  kept  the  Times  for  her,  and  she  and 
I  sympathised  with  each  other — two  Anglo-Saxons 
married  in  France. 

Some  of  the  traditions  of  the  chateau  were  quite 
charming.  I  was  sitting  in  the  lodge  one  day 
talking  to  Mme.  Antoine,  when  the  baker  appeared 
with  what  seemed  to  me  an  extraordinary  provision 
of  bread.  I  said,  "Does  he  leave  the  bread  for 
the  whole  village  with  you.^"  ''It  is  not  for  me, 
madame,  it  is  for  the  trainards  (tramps)  who  pass 
on  the  road,"  and  she  explained  that  all  the 
chateaux  gave  a  piece  of  bread  and  two  sous  to 
any  wayfarer  who  asked  for  food.  She  cut  the 
bread  into  good  thick  slices,  and  showed  me  a 
wooden  bowl  on  the  chimney,  filled  with  two-sous 
pieces.  While  I  was  there  two  men  appeared  at 
the  big  gates,  which  were  always  open  in  the  day. 
They  were  strong  young  fellows  carrying  their 
bundles,  and  a  sort  of  pitchfork  slung  over  their 
shoulders.      They    looked    weary    and    footsore, 

[24] 


CHATEAU   LIFE 

their  shoes  worn  in  holes.  They  asked  for  some- 
thing to  drink  and  some  tobacco,  didn't  care  very 
much  for  the  water,  which  was  all  that  Mme. 
Antoine  had  to  give  them,  but  thanked  her  civilly 
enough  for  the  bread  and  sous. 

The  park  wall  was  a  good  vantage-ground  to  see 
all  (and  that  wasn't  much)  that  went  on  on  the 
highroad.  The  diligence  to  Meaux  passed  twice 
a  day,  with  a  fine  rattle  of  old  wheels  and  chains, 
and  cracking  of  whips.  It  went  down  the  steep 
hill  well  enough,  but  coming  up  was  quite  another 
affair.  All  the  passengers  and  the  driver  got  out 
always,  and  even  then  it  was  difficult  to  get  the 
heavy,  cumbersome  vehicle  up  the  hill,  in  winter 
particularly,  when  the  roads  were  muddy  and 
slippery.  The  driver  knew  us  all  well,  and  was 
much  interested  in  all  that  went  on  at  the  chateau. 
He  often  brought  parcels,  and  occasionally  people 
from  the  village  who  wanted  to  see  W. — some- 
times a  blind  piano-tuner  who  came  from  Villers- 
Cotterets.  He  was  very  kind  to  the  poor  blind 
man,  helped  him  down  most  carefully  from  the 
diligence,  and  always  brought  him  through  the 
park  gates  to  the  lodge,  where  he  delivered  him 
over  to  Antoine.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  blind 
man  at  work.  Once  he  had  been  led  through  the 
rooms,  he  was  quite  at  home,  found  the  pianos, 
fussed  over  the  keys  and  the  strings,  exactly  as  if 

[25] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

he  saw  everything.  He  tuned  all  the  pianos  in  the 
country,  and  was  much  pleased  to  put  his  hands 
on  one  that  wasn't  fifty  years  old.  I  had  brought 
down  my  new  Erard. 
^  Sometimes  a  country  wedding  passed,  and  that 
was  always  a  pretty  sight.  A  marriage  is  always 
an  important  affair  in  France  in  every  class  of 
life.  There  are  long  discussions  with  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  two  families.  The  cure,  the  notary, 
the  patron  (if  the  young  man  is  a  workman),  are 
all  consulted,  and  there  are  as  many  negotiations 
and  agreements  in  the  most  humble  families  as  in 
the  grand  monde  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 
Almost  all  French  parents  give  a  dot  of  some  kind 
to  their  children,  and  whatever  the  sum  is,  either 
five  hundred  francs  or  two  thousand,  it  is  always 
scrupulously  paid  over  to  the  notary.  The  wed- 
ding-day is  a  long  one.  After  the  religious  cere- 
mony in  the  church,  all  the  wedding  party — mem- 
bers of  the  two  families  and  a  certain  number  of 
friends — adjourn  to  the  hotel  of  the  little  town  for 
a  breakfast,  which  is  long  and  most  abundant. 
Then  comes  the  crowning  glory  of  the  day — a 
country  walk  along  the  dusty  highroad  to  some 
wood  or  meadow  where  they  can  spend  the  whole 
afternoon.  It  is  pretty  to  see  the  little  procession 
trudging  along — the  bride  in  all  her  wedding  gar- 
ments, white  dress,  white  shoes,  wreath,  and  veil; 

[26] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

the  groom  in  a  dress  coat,  top-hat,  white  cravat 
and  waistcoat,  with  a  white  ribbon  bow  on  his 
sleeve.  Almost  all  the  girls  and  young  women  are 
dressed  in  white  or  light  colours ;  the  mothers  and 
grandmothers  (the  whole  family  turns  out)  in 
black  with  flowers  in  their  bonnets.  There  is 
usually  a  fiddler  walking  ahead  making  most  re- 
markable sounds  on  his  old  cracked  instrument, 
and  the  younger  members  of  the  party  take  an 
occasional  gallop  along  the  road.  They  are  gen- 
erally very  gay;  there  is  much  laughing,  and  from 
time  to  time  a  burst  of  song.  It  is  always  a  mys- 
tery to  me  how  the  bride  keeps  her  dress  and 
petticoat  so  clean,  but  she  does,  with  that  extraor- 
dinary knack  all  Frenchwomen  seem  to  have  of 
holding  up  their  skirts.  They  passed  often  under 
the  wall  of  the  chateau,  for  a  favourite  resting- 
place  was  in  our  woods  at  the  entrance  of  the  allee 
verte,  where  it  widens  out  a  little;  the  moss  makes 
a  beautiful  soft  carpet,  and  the  big  trees  give  per- 
fect shade.  We  heard  sounds  of  merriment  one 
day  when  we  were  passing  and  we  stopped  to  look 
on,  from  behind  the  bushes,  where  we  couldn't  be 
seen.  There  was  quite  a  party  assembled.  The 
fiddler  was  playing  some  sort  of  country-dance 
and  all  the  company,  except  the  very  old  people, 
were  dancing  and  singing,  some  of  the  men  in- 
dulging in  most  wonderful  steps  and  capers.     The 

[27] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

children  were  playing  and  running  under  the  trees. 
One  stout  man  was  asleep,  stretched  out  full  length 
on  the  side  of  the  road.  I  fancy  his  piquette,  as 
they  call  the  ordinary  white  wine  of  the  country, 
had  been  too  much  for  him.  The  bride  and  groom 
were  strolling  about  a  little  apart  from  the  others, 
quite  happy  and  lover-like,  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  she  blushing  and  giggling. 

The  gendarmes  passed  also  very  regularly.  They 
always  stopped  and  talked,  had  a  drink  with 
Antoine,  and  gave  all  the  local  news — how  many 
braconniers  (poachers)  had  been  caught,  how  long 
they  were  to  stay  in  prison,  how  some  of  the  farm- 
ers' sheep  had  disappeared,  no  one  knew  how 
exactly — there  were  no  more  robbers.  One  day 
two  of  them  passed,  dragging  a  man  between  them 
who  had  evidently  been  struggling  and  fighting. 
His  blouse  was  torn,  and  there  was  a  great  gash 
on  his  face.  We  were  wildly  excited,  of  course. 
They  told  us  he  was  an  old  sinner,  a  poacher  who 
had  been  in  prison  various  times,  but  these  last 
days,  not  contented  with  setting  traps  for  the 
rabbits,  he  had  set  fire  to  some  of  the  hay-stacks, 
and  they  had  been  hunting  for  him  for  some  time. 
He  looked  a  rough  customer,  had  an  ugly  scowl  on 
his  face.  One  of  the  little  hamlets  near  the  cha- 
teau, on  the  canal,  was  a  perfect  nest  of  poachers, 
and  I  had  continual  struggles  with  the  keepers 

[28] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

when  I  gave  clothes  or  blankets  to  the  women  and 
children.  They  said  some  of  the  women  were  as 
bad  as  the  men,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  encourage 
them  to  come  up  to  the  house  and  beg  for  food 
and  clothing;  that  they  sold  all  the  little  jackets 
and  petticoats  we  gave  them  to  the  canal  hands 
(also  a  bad  lot)  for  brandy.  I  believe  it  was  true 
in  some  cases,  but  in  the  middle  of  winter,  with 
snow  on  the  ground  (we  were  hardly  warm  in 
the  house  with  big  fires  everywhere),  I  couldn't 
send  away  women  with  four  or  five  children, 
all  insufficiently  clothed  and  fed,  most  of  them 
in  cotton  frocks  with  an  old  worn  knit  shawl 
around  their  shoulders,  legs  and  arms  bare  and 
chapped,  half  frozen.  Some  of  them  lived  in 
caverns  or  great  holes  in  the  rocks,  really  like 
beasts.  On  the  road  to  La  Ferte  there  was  a  big 
hole  (there  is  no  other  word  for  it)  in  the  bank 
where  a  whole  family  lived.  The  man  was  always 
in  prison  for  something,  and  his  wife,  a  tall,  gaunt 
figure,  with  wild  hair  and  eyes,  spent  most  of  her 
time  in  the  woods  teaching  her  boys  to  set  traps 
for  the  game.  The  cure  told  us  that  one  of  the 
children  was  ill,  and  that  there  was  literally 
nothing  in  the  house,  so  .1  took  one  of  my  cousins 
with  me,  and  we  climbed  up  the  bank,  leaving  the 
carriage  with  Hubert,  the  coachman,  expostulating 
seriously  below.     We  came  to  a  rickety  old  door 

[29] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

which  practically  consisted  of  two  rotten  planks 
nailed  together.  It  was  ajar;  clouds  of  black 
smoke  poured  out  as  we  opened  it,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  we  could  see  anything.  We 
finally  made  out  a  heap  of  filthy  rags  in  one 
corner  near  a  sort  of  fire  made  of  charred  pieces 
of  black  peat.  Two  children,  one  a  boy  about 
twelve  years  old,  was  lying  on  the  heap  of  rags, 
coughing  his  heart  out.  He  hardly  raised  his 
head  when  we  came  in.  Another  child,  a  girl, 
some  two  years  younger,  was  lying  beside  him, 
both  of  them  frightfully  thin  and  white;  one  saw 
nothing  but  great  dark  eyes  in  their  faces.  The 
mother  was  crouched  on  the  floor  close  to  the  chil- 
dren. She  hardly  moved  at  first,  and  was  really  a 
terrifying  object  when  .she  got  up;  half  savage, 
scarcely  clothed — a  short  petticoat  in  holes  and  a 
ragged  bodice  gaping  open  over  her  bare  skin,  no 
shoes  or  stockings;  big  black  eyes  set  deep  in  her 
head,  and  a  quantity  of  unkempt  black  hair.  She 
looked  enormous  when  she  stood  up,  her  head 
nearly  touching  the  roof.  I  didn't  feel  very  com- 
fortable, but  we  were  two,  and  the  carriage  and 
Hubert  within  call.  The  woman  was  civil  enough 
when  she  saw  I  had  not  come  empty-handed.  We 
took  her  some  soup,  bread,  and  milk.  The  chil- 
dren pounced  upon  the  bread  like  little  wild 
animals.     The  mother  didn't  touch  anything  while 

[30] 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

we  were  there — said  she  was  glad  to  have  the  milk 
for  the  boy.  I  never  saw  human  beings  living  in 
such  utter  filth  and  poverty.  A  crofter's  cottage 
in  Scotland,  or  an  Irish  hovel  with  the  pigs  and 
children  all  living  together,  was  a  palace  compared 
to  that  awful  hole.  I  remonstrated  vigorously 
with  W.  and  the  Mayor  of  La  Ferte  for  allowing 
people  to  live  in  that  way,  like  beasts,  upon  the 
highroad,  close  to  a  perfectly  prosperous  country 
town.  However,  they  were  vagrants,  couldn't  live 
anywhere,  for  when  we  passed  again,  some  days 
later,  there  was  no  one  in  the  hole.  The  door  had 
fallen  down,  there  was  no  smoke  coming  out,  and 
the  neighbours  told  us  the  family  had  suddenly 
disappeared.  The  authorities  then  took  up  the 
matter — the  holes  were  filled  up,  and  no  one  was 
allowed  to  live  in  them.  It  really  was  too  awful — 
like  the  dwellers  in  caves  of  primeval  days. 

We  didn't  have  many  visits  at  the  chateau, 
though  we  were  so  near  Paris  (only  about  an  hour 
and  a  half  by  the  express),  but  the  old  people  had 
got  accustomed  to  their  quiet  life,  and  visitors 
would  have  worried  them.  Sometimes  a  Protes- 
tant pasteur  would  come  down  for  two  days.  We 
had  a  nice  visit  once  from  M.  de  Pressense,  father 
of  the  present  deputy,  one  of  the  most  charming, 
cultivated  men  one  could  imagine.  He  talked 
easily  and    naturally,  using   beautiful    language. 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

He  was  most  interesting  when  he  told  us  about 
the  Commune,  and  all  the  horrors  of  that  time  in 
Paris.  He  was  in  the  Tuileries  when  the  mob 
sacked  and  burned  the  palace;  saw  the  femmes  de 
la  halle  sitting  on  the  brocade  and  satin  sofas, 
saying,  "C'est  nous  les  princesses  maintenant"; 
saw  the  entrance  of  the  troops  from  Versailles,  and 
the  quantity  of  innocent  people  shot  who  were 
merely  standing  looking  on  at  the  barricades,  hav- 
ing never  had  a  gun  in  their  hands.  The  only 
thing  I  didn't  like  was  his  long  extempore  (to  me 
familiar)  prayers  at  night.  I  believe  it  is  a  habit 
in  some  old-fashioned  French  Protestant  families 
to  pray  for  each  member  of  the  family  by  name. 
I  thought  it  was  bad  enough  when  he  prayed  for 
the  new  menage  just  beginning  their  married  life 
(that  was  us),  that  they  might  be  spiritually  guided 
to  do  their  best  for  each  other  and  their  respective 
families;  but  when  he  proceeded  to  name  some 
others  of  the  family  who  had  strayed  a  little  from 
the  straight  and  narrow  path,  hoping  they  would 
be  brought  to  see,  by  Divine  grace,  the  error  of  their 
ways,  I  was  horrified,  and  could  hardly  refrain 
from  expressing  my  opinion  to  the  old  people. 
However,  I  was  learning  prudence,  and  when  my 
opinion  and  judgment  were  diametrically  opposed 
to  those  of  my  new  family  (which  happened  often) 
I  kept  them  to  myself.     Sunday  was  strictly  kept. 

[321 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

There  was  no  Protestant  church  anywhere  near. 
We  had  a  service  in  the  morning  in  M.  A.'s  library. 
He  read  prayers  and  a  short  sermon,  all  the  house- 
hold appearing,  as  most  of  the  servants  were  Swiss 
and  Protestants.  In  the  afternoon  Mme.  A.  had 
all  the  village  children  at  the  chateau.  She  had  a 
small  organ  in  one  of  the  rooms  in  the  wing  of  the 
dining-room,  taught  them  hymns  and  read  them 
simple  little  stories.  The  cure  was  rather  anxious 
at  first,  having  his  little  flock  under  such  a  danger- 
ous heretic  influence,  but  he  very  soon  realized 
what  an  excellent  thing  it  was  for  the  children,  and 
both  he  and  the  mothers  were  much  disappointed 
when  anything  happened  to  put  off  the  lesson. 
They  didn't  see  much  of  the  cure.  He  would  pay 
one  formal  visit  in  the  course  of  the  year,  but  there 
was  never  any  intimacy. 

We  lived  much  for  ourselves,  and  for  a  few 
months  in  the  year  it  was  a  rest  and  change  from 
Paris,  and  the  busy,  agitated  life,  social  and  po- 
litical, that  one  always  led  there.  I  liked  the 
space,  too,  the  great  high,  empty  rooms,  with  no 
frivolous  little  tables  and  screens  or  stuff  on  the 
walls,  no  photograph  stands  nor  fancy  vases  for 
flowers,  no  bibelot  of  any  kind — large,  heavy  pieces 
of  furniture  which  were  always  found  every  morn- 
ing in  exactly  the  same  place.  Once  or  twice,  in 
later  years,  I  tried    to  make  a  few  changes,  but  it 

[333 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

was  absolutely  useless  to  contend  with  a  wonderful 
old  servant  called  Ferdinand,  who  was  over  sixty 
years  old,  and  had  been  brought  up  at  the  chateau, 
had  always  remained  there  with  the  various  own- 
ers, and  who  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
house  and  everything  that  was  in  it.  It  was  years 
before  I  succeeded  in  talking  to  him.  I  used  to 
meet  him  sometimes  on  the  stairs  and  corridors, 
always  running,  and  carrying  two  or  three  pails 
and  brooms.  If  he  could,  he  dived  into  any  open 
door  when  he  saw  me  coming,  and  apparently 
never  heard  me  when  I  spoke,  for  he  never  an- 
swered. He  was  a  marvellous  servant,  cleaned  the 
whole  house,  opened  and  shut  all  the  windows 
night  and  morning  (almost  work  enough  for  one 
man),  lit  the  caloriferes,  scrubbed  and  swept  and 
polished  floors  from  early  dawn  until  ten  o'clock, 
when  we  left  the  salon.  He  never  lived  with  the 
other  servants,  cooked  his  own  food  at  his  own 
hours  in  his  room,  and  his  only  companion  was  a 
large  black  cat,  which  always  followed  him  about. 
He  did  W.'s  service,  and  W.  said  that  they  used 
to  talk  about  all  sorts  of  things,  but  I  fancy  master 
and  servant  were  equally  reticent  and  understood 
each  other  without  many  words. 

I  slipped  one  day  on  the  very  slippery  wooden 
steps  leading  from  W.'s  little  study  to  the  passage. 
Baby  did  the  same,  and  got  a  nasty  fall  on  the 

[34] 


Ferdinand. 


CHATEAU  LIFE 

stone  flags,  so  I  asked  W.  if  he  would  ask  Ferdi- 
nand to  put  a  strip  of  carpet  on  the  steps  (there 
were  only  four) .  W.  gave  the  order,  but  no  carpet 
appeared.  He  repeated  it  rather  curtly.  The  old 
Ferdinand  made  no  answer,  but  grumbled  to  him- 
self over  his  broom  that  it  was  perfectly  foolish 
and  useless  to  put  down  a  piece  of  carpet,  that  for 
sixty  years  people  and  children,  and  babies,  had 
walked  down  those  steps  and  no  one  had  ever 
thought  of  asking  for  carpets.  W.  had  really 
rather  to  apologize  and  explain  that  his  wife  was 
nervous  and  unused  to  such  highly  polished  floors. 
However,  we  became  great  friends  afterward,  Fer- 
dinand and  I,  and  when  he  understood  how  fond 
I  was  of  the  chateau,  he  didn't  mind  my  deranging 
the  furniture  a  little.  Two  grand  pianos  were  a 
great  trial  to  him.  I  think  he  would  have  liked 
to  put  one  on  top  of  the  other. 

The  library,  quite  at  one  end  of  the  house, 
separated  from  the  drawing-room  we  always  sat 
in  by  a  second  large  salon,  was  a  delightful,  quiet 
resort  when  any  one  wanted  to  read  or  write.  There 
were  quantities  of  books,  French,  English,  and 
German — the  classics  in  all  three  languages,  and  a 
fine  collection  of  historical  memoirs. 


S35] 


n 

COUNTRY  VISITS 

WE  didn't  pay  many  visits;  but  sometimes, 
when  the  weather  was  fine  and  there  was 
no  hunting,  and  W.  gone  upon  an  expedition  to 
some  outlying  village,  Mme.  A.  and  I  would  start 
oflf  for  one  of  the  neighbouring  chateaux.  We 
went  one  day  to  the  chateau  de  C,  where  there  was 
a  large  family  party  assembled,  four  generations — 
the  old  grandmother,  her  son  and  daughter,  both 
married,  the  daughter's  daughter,  also  married, 
and  her  children.  It  was  a  pretty  drive,  about  an 
hour  all  through  the  forest.  The  house  is  quite 
modern,  not  at  all  pretty,  a  square  white  building, 
with  very  few  trees  near  it,  the  lawn  and  one  or 
two  flower-beds  not  particularly  well  kept.  The 
grounds  ran  straight  down  to  the  Villers-Cotterets 
forest,  where  M.  M.  has  good  shooting.  The  gates 
were  open,  the  concierge  said  the  ladies  were  there. 
(They  didn't  have  to  be  summoned  by  a  bell. 
That  is  one  of  the  habits  of  this  part  of  the  country. 
There  is  almost  always  a  large  bell  at  the  stable 

[36] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

or  "communs,"  and  when  visitors  arrive  and  the 
family  are  out  in  the  grounds,  not  too  far  off,  they 
are  summoned  by  the  bell.  I  was  quite  surprised 
one  day  at  Bourneville,  when  we  were  in  the  woods 
at  some  little  distance  from  the  chateau,  when  we 
heard  the  bell,  and  my  companion,  a  niece  of 
Mme.  A.,  instantly  turned  back,  saying,  "That 
means  there  are  visits;  we  must  go  back.")  We 
found  all  the  ladies  sitting  working  in  a  comer 
salon  with  big  windows  opening  on  the  park. 
The  old  grandmother  was  knitting,  but  she  was 
so  straight  and  slight,  with  bright  black  eyes,  that 
it  wouldn't  have  seemed  at  all  strange  to  see  her 
bending  over  an  embroidery  frame  like  all  the 
others.  The  other  three  ladies  were  each  seated 
at  an  embroidery  frame  in  the  embrasures  of  the 
windows.  I  was  much  impressed,  particularly 
with  the  large  pieces  of  work  that  they  were  under- 
taking, a  portiere,  covers  for  the  billiard-table,  bed, 
etc.  It  quite  recalled  what  one  had  always  read 
of  feudal  France,  when  the  seigneur  would  be  off 
with  his  retainers  hunting  or  fighting,  and  the 
chatelaine,  left  alone  in  the  chateau,  spent  her 
time  in  her  "bower"  surrounded  by  her  maidens, 
all  working  at  the  wonderful  tapestries  one  sees 
still  in  some  of  the  old  churches  and  convents.  I 
was  never  much  given  to  work,  but  I  made  a 
mental  resolve  that  I,  too,  would  set  up  a  frame 

[37] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms  at  home,  and  had 
visions  of  yards  of  pale-blue  satin,  all  covered  with 
wonderful  flowers  and  animals,  unrolling  them- 
selves under  my  skilful  fingers — but  I  must  con- 
fess that  it  remained  a  vision.  I  never  got  further 
than  little  crochet  petticoats,  which  clothed  every 
child  in  the  village.  To  make  the  picture  com- 
plete there  should  have  been  a  page  in  velvet  cap 
and  doublet,  stretched  on  the  floor  at  the  feet  of 
his  mistress,  trying  to  distract  her  with  songs  and 
ballads.  The  master  of  the  house,  M.  M.,  was 
there,  having  come  in  from  shooting.  He  had 
been  reading  aloud  to  the  ladies — Alfred  de  Musset, 
I  think.  That  part  of  the  picture  I  could  never 
realize,  as  there  is  nothing  W.  loathes  like  reading 
aloud  except,  perhaps,  being  read  to. 

They  were  very  friendly  and  easy,  showed  us  the 
downstairs  part  of  the  house,  and  gave  us  gouter, 
not  tea,  wine  and  cake.  The  house  looked  com- 
fortable enough,  nothing  picturesque;  a  large 
square  hall  with  horns,  whips,  foxes'  brushes,  ant- 
lers, and  all  sorts  of  trophies  of  the  chase  on  the 
walls.  They  are  sporting  people;  all  ride.  The 
dining-room,  a  large  bright  room,  was  panelled 
with  life-size  portraits  of  the  family:  M.  and  Mme. 
M.  in  hunting  dress,  green  coats,  tricorne  hats,  on 
their  horses ;  the  daughter  of  the  house  and  one  of 
her  brothers,  rowing  in  a  boat  on  a  small  lake; 

L38] 


^ 


,4^^. 


Merci,  je  vais  bien." 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

the  eldest  son  in  shooting  dress,  corduroys,  his  gun 
slung  over  his  shoulder,  his  dog  by  his  side.  They 
were  all  very  like. 

We  strolled  about  the  garden  a  little,  and  saw 
lots  of  pheasants  walking  peacefully  about  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods.  They  made  me  promise  to 
come  back  one  day  with  W.,  he  to  shoot  and  I  to 
walk  about  with  the  ladies.  We  saw  the  children 
of  the  fourth  generation,  and  left  with  the  impres- 
sion of  a  happy,  simple  family  party.  M.  M.  was 
a  conseiller  general  of  the  Aisne  and  a  colleague  of 
W.'s.  They  always  stayed  at  the  same  hotel  (de 
la  Hure)  in  Laon  at  the  time  of  the  conseil  general, 
and  M.  M.  was  much  amused  at  first  with  W.'s 
baggage:  a  large  bath-tub,  towels  (for  in  small 
French  provincial  hotels  towels  were  microscopic 
and  few  in  number),  and  a  package  of  tea,  which 
was  almost  an  unknown  commodity  in  those  days. 
None  of  our  visitors  ever  took  any,  and  always 
excused  themselves  with  the  same  phrase,  "Merci, 
je  vais  bien,"  evidently  looking  upon  it  as  some 
strange  and  hurtful  medicine.  That  has  all 
changed,  like  everything  else.  Now  one  finds  tea 
not  only  at  all  the  chateaux,  with  brioches  and 
toast,  but  even  in  all  the  hotels,  but  I  wouldn't 
guarantee  what  we  get  there  as  ever  having  seen 
China  or  Ceylon,  and  it  is  still  wiser  to  take 
chocolate  or  coffee,  which  is  almost  always  good. 

[39] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

We  had  a  lovely  drive  back.  The  forest  was 
beautiful  in  the  waning  light.  As  usual,  we  didn't 
meet  any  vehicle  of  any  kind,  and  were  quite  ex- 
cited when  we  saw  a  carriage  approaching  in  the 
distance — ^however,  it  proved  to  be  W.  in  his  dog- 
cart. We  passed  through  one  or  two  little  villages 
quite  lost  in  the  forest — always  the  same  thing, 
^  one  long,  straggling  street,  with  nobody  in  it,  a 
large  farm  at  one  end  and  very  often  the  church 
at  the  other.  As  it  was  late,  the  farm  gates  were 
all  open,  the  cattle  inside,  teams  of  white  oxen 
drinking  out  of  a  large  trough. 
"^  In  a  large  farm  near  Boursonne  there  was  much 
animation  and  conversation.  All  the  beasts  were 
in,  oxen,  cows,  horses,  chickens,  and  in  one  corner, 
a  flock  of  geese.  The  poor  little  "goose  girl,"  a 
child  about  ten  years  old  with  bright-blue  eyes  and 
a  pig-tail  like  straw  hanging  down  her  back,  was 
being  scolded  violently  by  the  farmer's  wife,  who 
was  presiding  in  person  over  the  rentree  of  the 
animals,  for  having  brought  her  geese  home  on  a 
run.  They  wouldn't  eat,  and  would  certainly  all 
be  ill,  and  probably  die  before  morning.  There  is 
a  pretty  little  old  chateau  at  Boursonne;  the  park, 
however,  so  shut  in  by  high  walls  that  one  sees 
nothing  in  passing.  W.  had  shot  there  once  or 
twice  in  former  years,  but  it  has  changed  hands 
very  often. 

[40] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

Sometimes  we  paid  more  humble  visits,  not  to 
chateaux,  but  to  the  principal  people  of  the  little 
country  town  near,  from  which  we  had  all  our 
provisions.  We  went  to  see  the  doctor's  wife,  the 
notary's  wife,  the  mayor's  wife,  and  the  two  schools 
— the  asile  or  infant  school,  and  the  more  im- 
portant school  for  bigger  girls.  The  old  doctor' 
was  quite  a  character,  had  been  for  years  in  the 
country,  knew  everybody  and  everybody's  private 
history.  He  was  the  doctor  of  the  chateau,  by 
the  year,  attended  to  everybody,  masters  and 
servants,  and  received  a  regular  salary,  like  a  sec- 
retary. He  didn't  come  very  often  for  us  in  his 
medical  capacity,  but  he  often  dropped  in  at  the 
end  of  the  day  to  have  a  talk  with  W.  The  first 
time  I  saw  him  W.  presented  him  to  me,  as  un  bon 
ami  de  la  famille.  I  naturally  put  out  my  hand, 
which  so  astonished  and  disconcerted  him  (he 
barely  touched  the  tips  of  my  fingers)  that  I  was 
rather  bewildered.  W.  explained  after  he  had 
gone  that  in  that  class  of  life  in  France  they  never 
shook  hands  with  a  lady,  and  that  the  poor  man 
was  very  much  embarrassed.  He  was  very  useful 
to  W.  as  a  political  agent,  as  he  was  kind  to  the 
poor  people  and  took  small  (or  no)  fees.  They 
all  loved  him,  and  talked  to  him  quite  freely.  His 
women-kind  were  Very  shy  and  provincial.  I 
think  our  visits  were  a  great  trial  to  them.    They 

[41] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

always  returned  them  most  punctiliously,  and  came 
in  all  their  best  clothes.  When  we  went  to  see 
V  them  we  generally  found  them  in  short  black 
skirts,  and  when  they  were  no  longer  very  young, 
with  black  caps,  but  they  always  had  handsome 
silk  dresses,  velvet  cloaks,  and  hats  with  flowers 
and  feathers  when  they  came  to  see  us.  Some  of 
them  took  the  cup  of  tea  we  offered,  but  they 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  their  chairs,  looking  quite  miserable  until  we 
relieved  them  of  the  burden  of  the  tea-cup.  Mme. 
A.  was  rather  against  the  tea-table;  she  preferred 
the  old-fashioned  tray  handed  around  with  wine 
and  cakes,  but  I  persuaded  her  to  try,  and  after  a 
little  while  she  acknowledged  that  it  was  better 
to  have  the  tea-table  brought  in.  It  made  a  di- 
version ;  I  got  up  to  make  the  tea.  Someone  gave 
me  a  chair,  someone  else  handed  the  cups.  It 
made  a  little  movement,  and  was  not  so  stiff  as 
when  we  all  sat  for  over  an  hour  on  the  same  chairs 
making  conversation.  It  is  terrible  to  have  to 
make  conversation,  and  extraordinary  how  little 
one  finds  to  say.  We  had  always  talked  easily 
enough  at  home,  but  then  things  came  more  natu- 
rally, and  even  the  violent  family  discussions  were 
amusing,  but  my  recollection  of  these  French  pro- 
vincial visits  is  something  awful.  Everybody  so 
polite,  so  stiff,  and  the  long  pauses  when  nobody 

[42] 


Long  pauses  when  nobody  seemed  to  hive  anything  to  say. 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

seemed  to  have  anything  to  say.  I  of  course  was 
a  novelty  and  a  foreign  element — they  didn't  quite 
know  what  to  do  with  me.  Even  to  Mme.  A.,  and 
I  grew  very  fond  of  her,  and  she  was  invariably 
charming  to  me,  I  was  something  different.  We 
had  many  talks  on  every  possible  subject  during 
our  long  drives,  and  also  in  the  winter  afternoons. 
At  first  I  had  my  tea  always  upstairs  in  my  own 
little  salon,  which  I  loved  with  the  curtains  drawn, 
a  bright  wood-fire  burning,  and  all  my  books  about; 
but  when  I  found  that  she  sat  alone  in  the  big 
drawing-room,  not  able  to  occupy  herself  in  any 
way,  I  asked  her  if  I  might  order  my  tea  there, 
and  there  were  very  few  afternoons  that  I  didn't 
sit  with  her  when  I  was  at  home.  She  talked 
often  about  her  early  married  life — winters  in 
Cannes  and  in  Paris,  where  they  received  a  great 
deal,  principally  Protestants,  and  I  fancy  she 
sometimes  regretted  the  interchange  of  ideas  and 
the  brilliant  conversation  she  had  been  accustomed 
to,  but  she  never  said  it.  She  was  never  tired  of 
hearing  about  my  early  days  in  America — our 
family  life — ^the  extraordinary  liberty  of  the  young 
people,  etc.  We  often  talked  over  the  religious 
question,  and  though  we  were  both  Protestants, 
we  were  as  far  apart  almost  as  if  one  was  a  pagan. 
Protestantism  in  France  always  has  seemed  to  me 
such  a  rigid  form  of  worship,  so  little  calculated 

[43] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

to  influence  young  people  or  draw  them  to  church. 
The  plain,  bare  churches  with  white-washed  walls, 
the  long  sermons  and  extempore  prayers,  speaking 
so  much  of  the  anger  of  God  and  the  terrible 
punishments  awaiting  the  sinner,  the  trials  and 
sorrows  that  must  come  to  all.  I  often  think  of 
a  sermon  I  heard  preached  in  one  Protestant 
church,  to  the  boys  and  girls  who  were  making 
their  first  communion — all  little  things,  the  girls 
in  their  white  frocks  and  long  white  veils,  the 
boys  with  white  waistcoats  and  white  ribbons  on 
their  arms,  making  such  a  pretty  group  as  they 
sat  on  the  front  benches  listening  hard  to  all 
the  preacher  said.  I  wondered  that  the  young, 
earnest  faces  didn't  suggest  something  to  him  be- 
sides the  horrors  of  eternal  punishment,  the  wicked- 
ness and  temptations  of  the  world  they  were  going 
to  face,  but  his  only  idea  seemed  to  be  that  he 
must  warn  them  of  all  the  snares  and  temptations 
that  were  going  to  beset  their  paths.  Mme.  A. 
couldn't  understand  my  ideas  when  I  said  I  loved 
the  Episcopal  service — the  prayers  and  litany  I 
had  always  heard,  the  Easter  and  Christmas 
hymns  I  had  always  sung,  the  carols,  the  anthems, 
the  great  organ,  the  flowers  at  Easter,  the  greens 
at  Christmas.  All  that  seemed  to  her  to  be  a 
false  sentiment  appealing  to  the  senses  and  im- 
agination.    "  But  if  it  brings  people  to  church,  and 

[44] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

the  beautiful  music  elevates  them  and  raises  their 
thoughts  to  higher  things — "  "That  is  not  re- 
ligion; real  religion  means  the  prayer  of  St.  Chry- 
sostom,  *  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  together 
in  My  name  I  will  grant  their  requests.'"  "That 
is  very  well  for  really  religious,  strong  people  who 
think  out  their  religion  and  don't  care  for  any  out- 
ward expression  of  it,  but  for  weaker  souls  who 
want  to  be  helped,  and  who  are  helped  by  the 
beautiful  music  and  the  familiar  prayers,  surely  it 
is  better  to  give  them  something  that  brings  them 
to  church  and  makes  them  better  men  and  women 
than  to  frighten  them  away  with  such  strict,  un- 
compromising doctrines — "  "No,  that  is  only 
sentiment,  not  real  religious  feeling."  I  don't 
think  we  ever  understood  each  other  any  better 
on  that  subject,  and  we  discussed  it  so  often. 

Mme.  A.,  with  whom  I  made  my  round  of  calls 
at  the  neighbouring  chateaux,  was  a  charming 
companion.  She  had  lived  a  great  deal  in  Paris, 
in  the  Protestant  coterie,  which  was  very  intel- 
lectual and  cultivated.  The  salons  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Broglie,  Mmes.  de  Stael,  d'Haussonville,  Guizot, 
were  most  interesting  and  recherches,  very  ex- 
clusive and  very  serious,  but  a  centre  for  all  po- 
litical and  literary  talk.  I  have  often  heard  my 
husband  say  some  of  the  best  talkers  in  society 

[45] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

s'etaient  formes  dans  ces  salons,  where,  as  young 
men,  they  listened  modestly  to  all  the  brilliant  con- 
versation going  on  around  them. 

It  was  an  exception  when  we  found  anyone  at 
home  when  we  called  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
when  we  did,  it  was  evident  that  afternoon  visits 
were  a  rarity.  We  did  get  in  one  cold  November 
afternoon,  and  our  visit  was  a  sample  of  many 
others  that  we  paid. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  footman  struggling 
into  his  coat,  with  a  handful  of  faggots  in  his  arms. 
He  ushered  us  through  several  bare,  stiff,  cold 
rooms  (proportions  handsome  enough)  to  a  smaller 
salon,  which  the  family  usually  occupied.  Then 
he  lighted  a  fire  (which  consisted  principally  of 
smoke)  and  went  to  summon  his  mistress.  The 
living-room  was  just  as  bare  and  stiff  as  the  others, 
no  trace  of  anything  that  looked  like  habitation  or 
what  we  should  consider  comfort — no  books  nor 
work  nor  flowers  (that,  however,  is  comparatively 
recent  in  France).  I  remember  quite  well  Mme. 
Casimir-Perier  telling  me  that  when  she  went  with 
her  husband  to  St.  Petersburg  about  fifty  years 
ago,  one  of  the  things  that  struck  her  most  in  the 
Russian  salons,  was  the  quantity  of  green  plants  and 
cut  flowers — she  had  never  seen  them  in  France. 
There  were  often  fine  pictures,  tapestries,  and 
furniture,  all  the  chairs  in  a  row  against  the  wall. 

[46] 


c^^ 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

Our  visits  were  always  long,  as  most  of  the 
chateaux  were  at  a  certain  distance,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  stay  an  hour  and  a  half,  sometimes 
longer,  to  rest  the  horses.  It  was  before  the  days 
of  five-o'clock  tea.  A  tray  was  brought  in  with 
sweet  wine  (Malaga  or  Vin  de  Chypre)  and  cakes 
(ladies'-fingers)  which  evidently  had  figured  often 
before  on  similar  occasions.  Conversation  lan- 
guished sometimes,  though  Mme.  A.  was  wonder- 
ful, talking  so  easily  about  everything.  In  the 
smaller  places,  when  people  rarely  went  to  Paris, 
it  ran  always  in  the  same  grooves — ^the  woods,  the 
hunting  (very  good  in  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest), 
the  schoolmaster  (so  diflScult  to  get  proper  books  for 
the  children  to  read),  the  cure,  and  all  local  gossip, 
and  as  much  about  the  iniquities  of  the  republic  as 
could  be  said  before  the  wife  of  a  republican  sen- 
ator. Wherever  we  went,  even  to  the  largest  cha- 
teaux, where  the  family  went  to  Paris  for  the 
season,  the  talk  was  almost  entirely  confined  to 
France  and  French  interests.  Books,  politics, 
music,  people,  nothing  existed  apparently  au-dela 
des  frontieres.  America  was  an  unknown  quan- 
tity. It  was  strange  to  see  intelligent  people  living 
in  the  world  so  curiously  indifferent  as  to  what 
went  on  in  other  countries.  At  first  I  used  to  talk 
a  little  about  America  and  Rome,  where  I  had 
lived  many  years  and  at  such  an  interesting  time 

[47] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

— the  last  days  of  Pio  Nono  and  the  transformation 
of  the  old  superstitious  papal  Rome  to  the  capital 
of  young  Italy — but  I  soon  realized  that  it  didn't 
interest  any  one,  and  by  degrees  I  learned  to  talk 
like  all  the  rest. 

I  often  think  of  one  visit  to  a  charming  little 
Louis  XV  chateau  standing  quite  on  the  edge  of 
the  forest — ^just  room  enough  for  the  house,  and  the 
little  hamlet  at  the  gates;  a  magnificent  view  of 
the  forest,  quite  close  to  the  lawn  behind  the  cha- 
teau, and  then  sweeping  off,  a  dark-blue  mass,  as 
far  as  one  could  see.  We  were  shown  into  a  large, 
high  room,  no  carpet,  no  fire,  some  fine  portraits, 
very  little  furniture,  all  close  against  the  wall,  a 
round  table  in  the  middle  with  something  on  it,  I 
couldn't  make  out  what  at  first.  Neither  books, 
reviews,  nor  even  a  photographic  album — ^the 
supreme  resource  of  provincial  salons.  When  we 
got  up  to  take  leave  I  managed  to  get  near  the 
table,  and  the  ornament  was  a  large  white  plate 
with  a  piece  of  fly-paper  on  it.  The  mistress  of 
the  house  was  shy  and  uncomfortable;  sent  at 
once  for  her  husband,  and  withdrew  from  the  con- 
versation as  soon  as  he  appeared,  leaving  him  to 
make  all  the  "frais."  We  walked  a  little  around  the 
park  before  leaving.  It  was  really  a  lovely  little 
place,  with  its  background  of  forest  and  the  quiet, 
sleepy  little  village  in  front;    very  lonely  and  far 

[48] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

from  everything,  but  with  a  certain  charm  of  its 
own.  Two  or  three  dogs  were  playing  in  the  court- 
yard, and  one  curious  little  animal  who  made  a 
rush  at  the  strangers.  I  was  rather  taken  aback, 
particularly  when  the  master  of  the  house  told  me 
not  to  be  afraid,  it  was  only  a  marcassin  (small 
wild  boar),  who  had  been  born  on  the  place,  and 
was  as  quiet  as  a  kitten.  I  did  not  think  the  great 
tusks  and  square,  shaggy  head  looked  very  pleas- 
ant, but  the  little  thing  was  quiet  enough,  came 
and  rubbed  itself  against  its  master's  legs  and 
played  quite  happily  with  the  dogs.  We  heard 
afterward  that  they  were  obliged  to  kill  it.  It  grew 
fierce  and  unmanageable,  and  no  one  would  come 
near  the  place. 

I  took  Henrietta  with  me  sometimes  when  I  had 
a  distant  visit  to  pay;  an  hour  and  a  half's  drive 
alone  on  a  country  road  where  you  never  meet 
anything  was  rather  dull.  We  went  one  cold 
December  afternoon  to  call  upon  Mme.  B.,  the 
widow  of  an  old  friend  and  colleague  of  W.'s.  We 
were  in  the  open  carriage,  well  wrapped  up,  and 
enjoyed  the  drive  immensely.  The  country  looked 
beautiful  in  the  bright  winter  sunshine,  the  distant 
forest  always  in  a  blue  mist,  the  trees  with  their 
branches  white  with  "givre"  (hoarfrost),  and 
patches  of  snow  and  ice  all  over  the  fields. 

[49] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

For  a  wonder  we  didn't  go  through  the  forest — 
drove  straight  away  from  it  and  had  charming  ef- 
^  fects  of  colour  upon  some  of  the  thatched  cottages 
in  the  villages  we  passed  through ;  one  or  two  had 
been  mended  recently  and  the  mixture  of  old  brown, 
bright  red  and  glistening  white  was  quite  lovely. 

We  went  almost  entirely  along  the  great  plains, 
occasionally  small  bits  of  wood  and  very  fair  hills 
as  we  got  near  our  destination.  The  villages 
always  very  scattered  and  almost  deserted — when 
y  it  is  cold  everybody  stays  indoors — and  of  course 
there  is  no  work  to  be  done  on  the  farms  when  the 
ground  is  hard  frozen.  It  is  a  difficult  question  to 
know  what  to  do  with  the  men  of  all  the  small 
hamlets  when  the  real  winter  sets  in ;  the  big  farms 
turn  off  many  of  their  labourers,  and  as  it  is  a 
purely  agricultural  country  all  around  us  there  is 
literally  nothing  to  do.  My  husband  and  several 
of  the  owners  of  large  estates  gave  work  to  many 
with  their  regular  "coupe"  of  wood,  but  that  only 
lasts  a  short  time,  and  the  men  who  are  willing  to 
work  but  can  find  nothing  drift  naturally  into  cafes 
and  billiard  saloons,  where  they  read  cheap  bad 
papers  and  talk  politics  of  the  wildest  description. 

We  found  our  chateau  very  well  situated  on  the 
top  of  a  hill,  a  good  avenue  leading  up  to  the  gate, 
a  pretty  little  park  with  fine  trees  at  the  back,  the 
tower  of  the  village  church  just  visible  through  the 

[50] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

trees  at  the  end  of  the  central  alley.  It  was  hardly 
a  chateau — half  manor,  half  farm.  We  drove  into 
a  large  courtyard,  or  rather  farmyard,  quite  de- 
serted; no  one  visible  anywhere;  the  door  of  the 
house  was  open,  but  there  was  no  bell  nor  appar- 
ently any  means  of  communicating  with  any  one. 
Hubert  cracked  his  whip  noisily  several  times 
without  any  result — and  we  were  just  wondering 
what  we  should  do  (perhaps  put  our  cards  under  a 
stone  on  the  steps)  when  a  man  appeared,  said 
Mme.  B.  was  at  home,  but  she  was  in  the  stable 
looking  after  a  sick  cow — ^he  would  go  and  tell  her 
we  were  there.  In  a  few  minutes  she  appeared 
attired  in  a  short,  rusty-black  skirt,  sabots  on  her 
feet,  and  a  black  woollen  shawl  over  her  head  and 
shoulders.  She  seemed  quite  pleased  to  see  us — 
was  not  at  all  put  out  at  being  caught  in  such  very 
simple  attire — begged  us  to  come  in  and  ushered 
us  through  a  long,  narrow  hall  and  several  cold, 
comfortless  rooms,  the  shutters  not  open  and  no 
fire  anywhere,  into  her  bedroom.  All  the  furniture 
— chairs,  tables  and  bed — ^was  covered  with  linen. 
She  explained  that  it  was  her  "lessive"  (general 
wash)  she  had  just  made,  that  all  the  linen  was 
dry^  but  she  had  not  had  time  to  put  it  away.  She 
called  a  maid  and  they  cleared  ofiF  two  chairs — 
she  sat  on  the  bed. 

It  was  frightfully  cold — we  were  thankful  we 

[51] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

had  kept  our  wraps  on.  She  said  she  supposed 
we  would  like  a  fire  after  our  long,  cold  drive,  and 
rang  for  a  man  to  bring  some  wood.  He  (in  his 
shirt  sleeves)  appeared  with  two  or  three  logs  of 
wood  and  was  preparing  to  make  a  fire  with  them 
all,  but  she  stopped  him,  said  one  log  was  enough, 
the  ladies  were  not  going  to  stay  long — so,  natu- 
rally, we  had  no  fire  and  clouds  of  smoke.  She  was 
very  talkative,  never  stopped — told  us  all  about  her 
servants,  her  husband's  political  campaigns  and  how 
W.  would  never  have  been  named  to  the  Conseil 
General  if  M.  B.  hadn't  done  all  his  work  for  him. 
She  asked  a  great  many  questions,  answering  them 
all  herself;  then  said,  "  I  don't  offer  you  any  tea,  as  I 
know  you  always  go  back  to  have  your  tea  at  home, 
and  I  am  quite  sure  you  don't  want  any  wine." 

There  was  such  an  evident  reluctance  to  give  us 
anything  that  I  didn't  like  to  insist,  and  said  we 
must  really  be  going  as  we  had  a  long  drive  before 
us,  though  I  should  have  liked  something  hot; 
tea,  of  course,  she  knew  nothing  about,  but  even  a 
glass  of  ordinary  hot  wine,  which  they  make  very 
well  in  France,  would  have  been  acceptable. 
Henrietta  was  furious;  she  was  shivering  with 
cold,  her  eyes  smarting  with  the  smoke,  and  not 
at  all  interested  in  M.  B.'s  political  career,  or 
Madame's  servants,  and  said  she  would  have  been 
thankful  to  have  even  a  glass  of  vin  de  Chypre. 

[59.] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

It  was  unfortunate,  perhaps,  that  we  had  arrived 
during  the  "lessive";  that  is  always  a  most  im- 
portant function  in  France.  In  almost  all  the  big 
houses  in  the  country  (small  ones,  too)  that  is  the 
way  they  do  their  washing;  once  a  month  or  once 
every  three  months,  according  to  the  size  of  the 
establishment,  the  whole  washing  of  the  household 
is  done;  all  the  linen:  master's,  servants',  guests'; 
house  is  turned  out;  the  linen  closets  cleaned  and 
aired!  Every  one  looks  busy  and  energetic.  It  is 
quite  a  long  affair — lasts  three  or  four  days.  I 
often  went  to  see  the  performance  when  we  made 
our  "lessive"  at  the  chateau  every  month. 

It  always  interested  our  English  and  American 
friends,  as  the  washing  is  never  done  in  that  way 
in  either  of  their  countries.  It  was  very  conven- 
ient at  our  place  as  we  had  plenty  of  room.  The 
"lavoir"  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  leading  into 
the  kitchen  gardens;  there  was  a  large,  square 
tank  sunk  in  the  ground,  so  that  the  women  could 
kneel  to  their  work,  then  a  little  higher  another  of 
beautiful  clear  water,  all  under  cover.  Just  across 
the  path  there  was  a  small  house  with  a  blazing 
wood  fire;  in  the  middle  an  enormous  tub  where 
all  the  linen  was  passed  through  wood  ashes. 
There  were  four  " lessiveuses "  (washerwomen), 
sturdy  peasant  women  with  very  short  skirts, 
sabots,  and   turbans   (made   of   blue   and    white 

[53] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

checked  calico)  on  their  heads,  their  strong  red 
arms  bared  above  the  elbow.  The  Mere  Michon, 
the  eldest  of  the  four,  directed  everything  and  kept 
them  well  at  work,  allowed  very  little  talking ;  they 
generally  chatter  when  they  are  washing  and  very 
often  quarrel.  When  they  are  washing  at  the 
public  "lavoir"  in  the  village  one  hears  their  shrill 
voices  from  a  great  distance.  Our  "lingere," 
Mme.  Hubert,  superintended  the  whole  operation; 
she  was  very  keen  about  it  and  remonstrated 
vigorously  when  they  slapped  the  linen  too  hard 
sometimes  with  the  little  flat  sticks,  like  spades, 
they  use.  The  linen  all  came  out  beautifully  white 
and  smooth,  hadn't  the  yellow  look  that  all  city- 
washed  clothes  have. 

I  think  Mme.  B.  was  very  glad  to  get  rid  of  us, 
and  to  begin  folding  her  linen  and  putting  it  back 
in  the  big  wooden  wardrobes,  that  one  sees  every- 
where in  France.  Some  of  the  old  Norman  ward- 
robes, with  handsome  brass  locks  and  beautifully 
carved  doors,  are  real  works  of  art — very  difficult  to 
get  and  very  expensive.  Fifty  years  ago  the  peasant 
did  not  understand  the  value  of  such  a  "meuble" 
and  parted  with  it  easily — but  now,  with  railways 
everywhere  and  strangers  and  bric-a-brac  people 
always  on  the  lookout  for  a  really  old  piece  of 
furniture,  they  understand  quite  well  that  they  pos- 
sess a  treasure  and  exact  its  full  value. 

[54] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

Our  drive  back  was  rather  shorter,  downhill 
almost  all  the  way,  the  horses  going  along  at  a 
good  steady  trot,  knowing  they  were  going  home. 

When  we  drew  up  at  our  own  door  Hubert  re- 
marked respectfully  that  he  thought  it  was  the  first 
time  that  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  had  ever 
been  received  by  a  lady  in  sabots. 

We  wondered  afterward  if  she  had  personally 
attended  to  the  cow — in  the  way  of  poulticing  or 
rubbing  it.  She  certainly  didn't  wash  her  hands 
afterward,  and  it  rather  reminded  me  of  one  of 
Charles  de  Bunsen's  stories  when  he  was  Secretary 
of  Legation  at  Turin.  In  the  summer  they  took 
a  villa  in  the  country  just  out  of  the  town  and  had 
frequent  visitors  to  lunch  or  dinner.  One  day  two 
of  their  friends,  Italians,  had  spent  the  whole  day 
with  them;  had  walked  in  the  garden,  picked  fruit 
and  flowers,  played  with  the  child  and  the  dogs 
and  the  pony,  and  as  they  were  coming  back  to  the 
house  for  dinner,  Charles  suggested  that  they 
might  like  to  come  up  to  his  dressing-room  and 
wash  their  hands  before  dinner — ^to  which  one  of 
them  replied,  "Grazie,  non  mi  sporco  facilmente" 
(literal  translation,  "Thanks,  I  don't  dirty  myself 
easily"),  and  declined  the  oflfer  of  soap  and  water. 

We  paid  two  or  three  visits  one  year  to  the 
neighbouring  chateaux,  and  had  one  very  pleasant 

[55] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

afternoon  at  the  Chateau  de  Pinon,  belonging  to 
the  Courval  family.  W.  had  known  the  late  pro- 
prietor, the  Vicomte  de  Courval,  very  well.  They 
had  been  colleagues  of  the  Conseil  General  of  the 
Aisne,  were  both  very  fond  of  the  country  and 
country  life,  and  used  to  have  long  talks  in  the 
evening,  when  the  work  of  the  day  was  over,  about 
plantation,  cutting  down  trees,  preservation  of 
game,  etc.  Without  these  talks,  I  think  W.  would 
have  found  the  evenings  at  the  primitive  little 
Hotel  de  la  Hure,  at  Laon,  rather  tedious. 

The  chateau  is  not  very  old  and  has  no  historic 
interest.  It  was  built  by  a  Monsieur  du  Bois, 
Vicomte  de  Courval,  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  He  lived  at  first  in  the  old  feudal  chateau 
of  which  nothing  now  remains.  Already  times 
were  changing — the  thick  walls,  massive  towers, 
high,  narrow  windows,  almost  slits,  and  deep  moat, 
which  were  necessary  in  the  old  troubled  days, 
when  all  isolated  chateaux  might  be  called  upon, 
at  any  time,  to  defend  themselves  from  sudden  at- 
tack, had  given  way  to  the  larger  and  more  spa- 
cious residences  of  which  Mansard,  the  famous 
architect  of  Louis  XIV,  has  left  so  many  chefs 
d'ceuvre.  It  was  to  Mansard  that  M.  de  Courval 
confided  the  task  of  building  the  chateau  as  it  now 
stands,  while  the  no  less  famous  Le  Notre  was 
charged  to  lay  out  the  park  and  gardens. 

[56] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

It  was  an  easy  journey  from  B — viUe  to  Pinon. 
An  hour's  drive  through  our  beautiful  forest  of 
Villers-Cotterets  and  another  hour  in  the  train. 
We  stopped  at  the  little  station  of  Anizy  just  out- 
side the  gates  of  the  park;  a  brougham  was  wait- 
ing for  us  and  a  very  short  drive  through  a  stately 
avenue  brought  us  to  the  drawbridge  and  the  iron 
gates  of  the  "  Cour  d'honneur."  The  house  looked 
imposing;  I  had  an  impression  of  a  very  high  and 
very  long  fa9ade  with  two  towers  stretching  out 
into  the  court-yard,  which  is  very  large,  with  fine 
old  trees  and  broad  parterres  of  bright-coloured 
flowers  on  either  side  of  the  steps.  There  was  a 
wide  moat  of  running  water,  the  banks  covered 
with  shrubs  and  flowers — the  flowers  were  prin- 
cipally salvias  and  chrysanthemums,  as  it  was  late 
in  the  season,  but  they  made  a  warm  bit  of  colour. 
The  house  stands  low,  as  do  all  houses  surrounded 
by  a  moat,  but  the  park  rises  a  little  directly  be- 
hind it  and  there  is  a  fine  background  of  wood. 

We  drew  up  at  a  flight  of  broad,  shallow  steps; 
the  doors  were  open.  There  were  three  or  four 
footmen  in  the  ante-room.  While  we  were  taking 
off  our  wraps  Mme.  de  Courval  appeared;  she 
was  short,  stout,  dressed  in  black,  with  that  ter- 
rible black  cap  which  all  widows  wear  in  France — 
so  different  from  the  white  cap  and  soft  white 
muslin   collar  and  cuffs  we  are  accustomed  to. 

[57] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

She  had  a  charming,  easy  manner  and  looked  very 
intelligent  and  capable.  It  seems  she  managed 
the  property  extremely  well,  made  the  tour  of  the 
house,  woods  and  garden  every  day  with  her 
"regisseur."  W.  had  the  highest  opinion  of  her 
business  capacity — said  she  knew  the  exact  market 
value  of  everything  on  the  place — ^from  an  old  tree 
that  must  be  cut  down  for  timber  to  the  cheeses 
the  farmer's  wife  made  and  sold  at  the  Soissons 
market. 

She  suggested  that  I  should  come  upstairs  to 
leave  my  heavy  coat.  We  went  up  a  broad  stone 
staircase,  the  walls  covered  with  pictures  and  en- 
gravings; one  beautiful  portrait  of  her  daughter, 
the  Marquise  de  Chaponay,  on  horseback.  There 
were  handsome  carved  chests  and  china  vases  on 
the  landing,  which  opened  on  a  splendid  long 
gallery,  very  high  and  light — bedrooms  on  one  side, 
on  the  other  big  windows  (ten  or  twelve,  I  should 
think)  looking  over  the  park  and  gardens.  She 
took  me  to  a  large,  comfortable  room,  bright  wood 
fire  blazing,  and  a  pretty  little  dressing-room  open- 
ing out  of  it,  furnished  in  a  gay,  old-fashioned  pat- 
tern of  chintz.  She  said  breakfast  would  be  ready 
in  ten  minutes — supposed  I  could  find  my  way 
down,  and  left  me  to  my  own  devices. 

I  found  the  family  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room;    four  women:    Mme.  de  Courval  and  her 

[58] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

daughter,  the  Marquise  de  Chaponay,  a  tall  hand- 
some woman,  and  two  other  ladies  of  a  certain  age ; 
I  did  not  catch  their  names,  but  they  looked  like 
all  the  old  ladies  one  always  sees  in  a  country  house 
in  France.  I  should  think  they  were  cousins  or 
habituees  of  the  chateau,  as  they  each  had  their 
embroidery  frame  and  one  a  little  dog.  I  am 
haunted  by  the  embroidery  frames — I  am  sure  I 
shall  end  my  days  in  a  black  cap,  bending  over  a 
frame  making  portieres  or  a  piano-cover. 

We  breakfasted  in  a  large  square  dining-room 
running  straight  through  the  house,  windows  on 
each  side.  The  room  was  all  in  wood  panelling — 
light  gray — the  sun  streaming  in  through  the  win- 
dows. Mme.  de  Courval  put  W.  on  her  right,  me 
on  her  other  side.  We  had  an  excellent  breakfast, 
which  we  appreciated  after  our  early  start.  There 
was  handsome  old  silver  on  the  table  and  side- 
board, which  is  a  rare  thing  in  France,  as  almost 
all  the  silver  was  melted  during  the  Revolution. 
Both  Mme.  de  Courval  and  her  daughter  were  very 
easy  and  animated.  The  Marquise  de  Chaponay 
told  me  she  had  known  W.  for  years,  that  in  the 
old  days  before  he  became  such  a  busy  man  and 
so  engrossed  in  politics  he  used  to  read  Alfred  de 
Musset  to  her,  in  her  atelier,  while  she  painted. 
She  supposed  he  read  now  to  me — which  he  cer- 
tainly never  did — as  he  always  told  me  he  hated 

[59] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

reading  aloud.  They  talked  politics,  of  course, 
but  their  opinions  were  the  classic  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  opinions:  "A  Republic  totally  unfitted 
for  France  and  the  French" — "none  of  the  gentle- 
men in  France  really  Republican  at  heart"  (with 
evidently  a  few  exceptions) — W.'s  English  blood 
and  education  having,  of  course,  influenced  him. 
•  As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  one  of  the  win- 
dows on  the  side  of  the  moat  was  opened  and  we 
all  gave  bread  to  the  carp,  handed  to  us  by  the 
butler — small  square  pieces  of  bread  in  a  straw 
basket.  It  was  funny  to  see  the  fish  appear  as 
soon  as  the  window  was  opened — some  of  them 
were  enormous  and  very  old.  It  seems  they  live 
to  a  great  age;  a  guardian  of  the  Palace  at  Fon- 
tainebleau  always  shows  one  to  tourists,  who  is 
supposed  to  have  been  fed  by  the  Emperor  Na-,^  ^ 
poleon.  Those  of  Pinon  knew  all  about  it,  lifting 
their  brown  heads  out  of  the  water  and  never 
missing  their  piece  of  bread. 

We  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  for  coffee, 
passing  through  the  billiard  room,  where  there  are 
some  good  pictures.  A  fine  life-size  portrait  of 
General  Moreau  (father  of  Mme.  de  Courval)  in 
uniform,  by  Gerard — near  it  a  trophy  of  four  flags 
— ^Austrian,  Saxon,  Bavarian,  and  Hungarian — 
taken  by  the  General ;  over  the  trophy  three  or  four 
"lames    d'honneur"    (presentation    swords)    with 

[60] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

name  and  inscription.  There  are  also  some  pretty 
women's  portraits  in  pastel — ^very  delicate  colours 
in  old-fashioned  oval  frames — quite  charming. 

The  drawing-room  was  a  very  handsome  room 
also  panelled  in  light  gray  carved  wood ;  the  furni- 
ture rather  heavy  and  massive,  curtains  and  cover- 
ings of  thick,  bright  flowered  velvet,  but  it  looked 
suitable  in  that  high  old-fashioned  room — light 
modern  furniture  would  have  been  out  of  place. 

As  soon  as  we  had  finished  our  coffee  we  went 
for  a  walk — not  the  two  old  ladies,  who  settled 
down  at  once  to  their  embroidery  frames;  one  of 
them  showed  me  her  work — really  quite  beautiful 
— a  church  ornament  of  some  kind,  a  painted 
Madonna  on  a  ground  of  white  satin;  she  was 
covering  the  whole  ground  with  heavy  gold  em- 
broidery, so  thick  it  looked  like  mosaic. 

The  park  is  splendid,  a  real  domain,  all  the 
paths  and  alleys  beautifully  kept  and  every  de- 
scription of  tree — M.  de  Courval  was  always  trying 
experiments  with  foreign  trees  and  shrubs  and 
apparently  most  successfully.  I  think  the  park 
would  have  been  charming  in  its  natural  state,  as 
there  was  a  pretty  little  river  running  through  the 
grounds  and  some  tangles  of  bushes  and  rocks  that 
looked  quite  wild — it  might  have  been  in  the  middle 
of  the  forest  but  everything  had  been  done  to  assist 
nature.    There  were  a  "piece  d'eau,"  cascades,  lit- 

[61] 


CHATEAU  LIFE   IN  FRANCE 

tie  bridges  thrown  over  the  river  in  picturesque 
spots,  and  on  the  highest  point  a  tower  (donjon), 
which  was  most  effective,  looked  quite  the  old 
feudal  towers  of  which  so  few  remain  now.  They 
were  used- as  watch  towers,  as  a  sentinel  posted  on 
the  top  could  see  a  great  distance  over  the  plains 
and  give  warning  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 
As  the  day  was  fine — no  mist — we  had  a  beautiful 
view  from  the  top,  seeing  plainly  the  great  round 
tower  of  Coucy,  the  finest  ruin  in  France — ^the 
others  made  out  quite  well  the  towers  of  the  Laon 
Cathedral,  but  those  I  couldn't  distinguish,  seeing 
merely  a  dark  spot  on  the  horizon  which  might 
have  been  a  passing  cloud. 

Coming  back  we  crossed  the  "  AUee  des  Soupirs," 
which  has  its  legend  like  so  many  others  in  this 
country:  It  was  called  the  "AUee  des  Soupirs"  on 
account  of  the  tragedy  that  took  place  there.  The 
owner  of  the  chateau  at  that  time — a  Comte  de 
Lamothe — discovered  his  wife  on  too  intimate 
terms  with  his  great  friend  and  her  cousin;  they 
fought  in  the  Allee,  and  the  Comte  de  Lamothe 
was  killed  by  his  friend.  The  widow  tried  to 
brave  it  out  and  lived  on  for  some  time  at  the 
chateau;  but  she  was  accursed  and  an  evil  spell 
on  the  place — everything  went  wrong  and  the 
chateau  finally  burnt  down.  The  place  was  then 
sold  to  the  de  Courval  family. 

[62] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  Marquise  had  had 
enough;  I  should  not  think  she  was  much  of  a 
walker;  she  was  struggling  along  in  high-heeled 
shoes  and  proposed  that  she  and  I  should  return 
to  the  house  and  she  would  show  me  her  atelier. 
W.  and  Mme.  de  Courval  continued  their  tour  of 
inspection  which  was  to  finish  at  the  Home  Farm, 
where  she  wanted  to  show  him  some  small  Breton 
cows  which  had  just  arrived.  The  atelier  was  a 
charming  room;  panelled  like  all  the  others  in  a 
light  grey  wood.  One  hardly  saw  the  walls,  for 
they  were  covered  with  pictures,  engravings  and  a 
profusion  of  mirrors  in  gilt  oval  frames.  It  was 
evidently  a  favourite  haunt  of  the  Marquise's: 
books,  papers  and  painting  materials  scattered 
about;  the  piano  open  and  quantities  of  music  on 
the  music-stand;  miniatures,  snuff-boxes  and  little 
old-fashioned  bibelots  on  all  the  tables,  and  an 
embroidery  frame,  of  course,  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows, near  it  a  basket  filled  with  bright  coloured 
silks.  The  miniatures  were,  almost  all,  portraits 
of  de  Courvals  of  every  age  and  in  every  pos- 
sible costume:  shepherdesses,  court  ladies  of  the 
time  of  Louis  XV,  La  Belle  Ferronniere  with  the 
jewel  on  her  forehead,  men  in  armour  with  fine, 
strongly  marked  faces;  they  must  have  been  a 
handsome  race.  It  is  a  pity  there  is  no  son  to 
carry  on  the  name.     One  daughter-in-law  had  no 

[63] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

children;  the  other  one,  born  an  American,  Mary 
Ray  of  New  York,  had  only  one  daughter,  the 
present  Princesse  de  Poix,  to  whom  Pinon  now 
belongs. 

We  played  a  little;  four  hands — the  classics,  of 
course.  All  French  women  of  that  generation  who 
played  at  all  were  brought  up  on  strictly  classical 
music.  She  had  a  pretty,  delicate,  old-fashioned 
touch;  her  playing  reminded  me  of  Madame  A.'s. 

When  it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  more  we  sat 
by  the  fire  and  talked  till  the  others  came  in.  She 
asked  a  great  deal  about  my  new  life  in  Paris — 
feared  I  would  find  it  stiff  and  dull  after  the  easy 
happy  family  life  I  had  been  accustomed  to.  I 
said  it  was  very  different,  of  course,  but  there  was 
much  that  was  interesting,  only  I  did  not  know 
the  people  well  enough  yet  to  appreciate  the  stories 
they  were  always  telling  about  each  other,  also 
that  I  had  made  several  "gaffes"  quite  innocently. 
I  told  her  one  which  amused  her  very  much, 
though  she  could  not  imagine  how  I  ever  could  have 
said  it.  It  was  the  first  year  of  my  marriage;  we 
were  dining  in  an  Orleanist  house,  almost  all  the 
company  Royalists  and  intimate  friends  of  the 
Orleans  Princes,  and  three  or  four  moderate,  very 
moderate  Republicans  like  us.  It  was  the  20th  of 
January  and  the  women  were  all  talking  about  a 
ball  they  were  going  to  the  next  night,  21st  of 

[64] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

January  (anniversary  of  the  death  of  Louis  XVI). 
They  supposed  they  must  wear  mourning — such  a 
bore.  Still,  on  account  of  the  Comtesse  de  Paris 
and  the  Orleans  family  generally,  they  thought 
they  must  do  it — upon  which  I  asked,  really  very 
much  astonished:  "On  account  of  the  Orleans 
family?  but  did  not  the  Due  d'Orleans  vote  the 
King's  execution?"  There  was  an  awful  silence 
and  then  M.  Leon  Say,  one  of  the  cleverest  and 
most  delightful  men  of  his  time,  remarked,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye:  "Ma  foi;  je  crois  que  Mme. 
Waddington  a  raison."  There  was  a  sort  of  ner- 
vous laugh  and  the  conversation  was  changed. 
W.  was  much  annoyed  with  me,  "a  foreigner  so 
recently  married,  throwing  down  the  gauntlet  in 
that  way."  I  assured  him  I  had  no  purpose  of  any 
kind — I  merely  said  what  I  thought,  which  is 
evidently  unwise. 

Mme.  de  Chaponay  said  she  was  afraid  I  would 
find  it  very  difficult  sometimes.  French  people — 
in  society  at  least — were  so  excited  against  the 
Republic,  anti-religious  feeling,  etc.  "It  must  be 
very  painful  for  you."  '*I  don't  think  so;  you  see 
I  am  American,  Republican  and  a  Protestant;  my 
point  of  view  must  be  very  different  from  that  of  a 
Frenchwoman  and  a  Catholic."  She  was  very 
charming,  however;  intelligent,  cultivated,  speak- 
ing beautiful  French  with  a  pretty  carefully  trained 

[65] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

voice — English  just  as  well;  we  spoke  the  two 
languages  going  from  one  to  the  other  without 
knowing  why.  I  was  quite  sorry  when  we  were 
summoned  to  tea.  The  room  looked  so  pretty  in  the 
twilight,  the  light  from  the  fire  danced  all  over  the 
pictures  and  gilt  frames  of  the  mirrors,  leaving 
the  corners  quite  in  shadow.  The  curtains  were 
not  drawn  and  we  saw  the  darkness  creeping  up 
over  the  lawn;  quite  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  the 
band  of  white  mist  was  rising,  which  we  love  to 
see  in  our  part  of  the  country,  as  it  always  means  a 
fine  day  for  the  morrow. 

We  had  a  cheery  tea.  W.  and  Mme.  de  Courval 
had  made  a  long  "tournee,"  and  W.  quite  ap- 
proved of  all  the  changes  and  new  acquisitions  she 
had  made,  particularly  the  little  Breton  cows.  We 
left  rather  hurriedly  as  we  had  just  time  to  catch 
our  train. 

Our  last  glimpse  of  the  chateau  as  we  looked 
back  from  the  turn  in  the  avenue  was  charming; 
there  were  lights  in  almost  all  the  windows,  which 
were  reflected  in  the  moat;  the  moon  was  rising 
over  the  woods  at  the  back,  and  every  tower  and 
cornice  of  the  enormous  pile  stood  out  sharply  in 
the  cold  clear  light. 

We  didn't  move  often  once  we  were  settled  in 
the  chateau  for  the  autumn.     It  was  very  difficult 

[66] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

to  get  W.  away  from  his  books  and  coins  and  his 
woods;  but  occasionally  a  shooting  party  tempted 
him.  We  went  sometimes,  about  the  Toussaint 
when  the  leaves  were  nearly  fallen,  to  stay  with 
friends  who  had  a  fine  chateau  and  estate  about 
three  hours  by  rail  from  Paris,  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  plains  of  the  Aube.  The  first  time  we  went, 
soon  after  my  marriage,  I  was  rather  doubtful  as  to 
how  I  should  like  it.  I  had  never  stayed  in  a 
French  country  house  and  imagined  it  would  be 
very  stiff  and  formal;  however,  the  invitation  was 
for  three  days — two  days  of  shooting  and  one  of 
rest — and  I  thought  that  I  could  get  through  with- 
out being  too  homesick. 

We  arrived  about  4.30  for  tea;  the  journey  from 
Paris  was  through  just  the  same  uninteresting 
country  one  always  sees  when  leaving  by  the  Gare 
de  I'Est.  I  think  it  is  the  ugliest  sortie  of  all  Paris. 
As  we  got  near  the  chateau  the  Seine  appeared, 
winding  in  and  out  of  the  meadows  in  very  leisurely 
fashion.  We  just  saw  the  house  from  the  train, 
standing  rather  low.  The  station  is  at  the  park 
gates — in  fact,  the  railway  and  the  canal  run 
through  the  property.  Two  carriages  were  wait- 
ing (we  were  not  the  only  guests),  and  a  covered 
cart  for  the  maids  and  baggage.  A  short  drive 
through  a  fine  avenue  of  big  trees  skirting  broad 
lawns  brought  us  to  the  house,  which  looked  very 

[67] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

imposing  with  its  long  fa9ade  and  rows  of  lighted 
windows.  We  drove  through  arcades  covered  with 
ivy  into  a  very  large  court-yard,  the  chateau  stables 
and  communs  taking  three  sides.  There  was  a 
piece  d'eau  at  one  end,  a  colombier  at  the  other. 
There  was  no  perron  or  stately  entrance;  in  one 
corner  a  covered  porch,  rather  like  what  one  sees 
in  England,  shut  in  with  glass  door  and  windows 
and  filled  with  plants,  a  good  many  chrysanthe- 
mums, which  made  a  great  mass  of  colour.  The 
hall  doors  were  wide  open  as  the  carriage  drove 
up.  Monsieur  A.  and  his  wife  waiting  for  us 
just  inside,  Mme.  A.  his  mother,  the  mistress 
of  the  chateau,  at  the  door  of  the  salon.  We  went 
into  a  large,  high  hall,  well  lighted,  a  bright  fire 
burning,  plenty  of  servants.  It  looked  most 
cheerful  and  comfortable  on  a  dark  November 
afternoon.  We  left  our  wraps  in  the  hall,  and 
went  straight  into  the  drawing-room.  I  have  been 
there  so  often  since  that  I  hardly  remember  my 
first  impression.  It  was  a  corner  room,  high  ceil- 
ing, big  windows,  and  fine  tapestries  on  the  walls; 
some  of  them  with  a  pink  ground  (very  unusual), 
and  much  envied  and  admired  by  all  art  collectors. 
Mme.  A.  told  me  she  found  them  all  rolled  up 
in  a  bundle  in  the  garret  when  she  married.  A 
tea-table  was  standing  before  the  sofa,  and  various 
people  working  and  having  their  tea.     We  were 

[68J 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

not  a  large  party — Comte  and  Comtesse  de  B. 
(she  a  daughter  of  the  house)  and  three  or  four 
men,  deputies  and  senators,  all  political.  They 
counted  eight  guns.  We  sat  there  about  half  an 
hour,  then  there  was  a  general  move,  and  young 
Mme.  A.  showed  us  our  rooms,  which  were 
most  comfortable,  fires  burning,  lamps  lighted. 
She  told  us  dinner  was  at  7.30 ;  the  first  bell  would 
ring  at  seven.  I  was  the  only  lady  besides  the 
family.  I  told  my  maid  to  ask  some  of  the  others 
what  their  mistresses  were  going  to  wear.  She 
said  ordinary  evening  dress,  with  natural  flowers 
in  their  hair,  and  that  I  would  receive  a  small 
bouquet,  which  I  did,  only  as  I  never  wear  any- 
thing in  my  hair,  I  put  them  on  my  corsage,  which 
did  just  as  well. 

The  dinner  was  pleasant,  the  dining-room  a 
fine,  large  hall  (had  been  stables)  with  a  fireplace 
at  each  end,  and  big  windows  giving  on  the  court- 
yard. It  was  so  large  that  the  dinner  table  (we 
were  fourteen)  seemed  lost  in  space.  The  talk 
was  almost  exclusively  political  and  amusing 
enough.  All  the  men  were,  or  had  been,  deputies, 
and  every  possible  question  was  discussed.  Mme. 
A.  was  charming,  very  intelligent,  and  ani- 
mated, having  lived  all  her  life  with  clever  people, 
and  having  taken  part  in  all  the  changes  that 
France  has  gone  through  in  the  last  fifty  years. 

[69] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

She  had  been  a  widow  for  about  two  years  when  I 
first  stayed  there,  and  it  was  pretty  to  see  her  chil- 
dren with  her.  Her  two  sons,  one  married,  the 
other  a  young  ojQScer,  were  so  respectful  and  fond  of 
their  mother,  and  her  daughter  perfectly  devoted 
to  her. 

The  men  all  went  off  to  smoke  after  coffee,  and 
we  women  were  left  to  ourselves  for  quite  a  long 
time.  The  three  ladies  all  had  work — knitting  or 
crochet — and  were  making  little  garments,  bras- 
sieres, and  petticoats  for  all  the  village  children. 
They  were  quite  surprised  that  I  had  nothing  and 
said  they  would  teach  me  to  crochet.  The  evening 
was  not  very  long  after  the  men  came  back.  Some 
remained  in  the  billiard-room,  which  opens  out  of 
the  salon,  and  played  cochonnet,  a  favourite  French 
game.  We  heard  violent  discussions  as  to  the 
placing  of  the  balls,  and  some  one  asked  for  a  yard 
measure,  to  be  quite  sure  the  count  was  correct. 
Before  we  broke  up  M.  A.  announced  the  pro- 
gramme for  the  next  day.  Breakfast  for  all  the 
men  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  dining-room,  and  an 
immediate  start  for  the  woods;  luncheon  at  the 
Pavilion  d'Hiver  at  twelve  in  the  woods,  the  ladies 
invited  to  join  the  shooters  and  follow  one  or  two 
battues  afterward.  It  was  a  clear,  cold  night,  and 
there  seemed  every  prospect  of  a  beautiful  day  for 
the  battues. 

[70] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

The  next  morning  was  lovely.  I  went  to  my 
maid's  room,  just  across  the  corridor  to  see  the 
motors  start.  All  our  rooms  looked  out  on  the 
park,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  corridor  was  a 
succession  of  small  rooms  giving  on  the  court-yard, 
which  were  always  kept  for  the  maids  and  valets 
of  the  guests.  It  was  an  excellent  arrangement, 
for  in  some  of  the  big  chateaux,  where  the  servants 
were  at  the  top  of  the  house,  or  far  oflF  in  another 
wing,  communications  were  difficult.  There  were 
two  carriages  and  a  sort  of  tapissiere  following  with 
guns,  servants,  and  cartridges.  I  had  a  message 
from  Mme.  A.  asking  if  I  had  slept  well,  and 
sending  me  the  paper;  and  a  visit  from  Comtesse 
de  B.  who,  I  think,  was  rather  anxious  about 
my  garments.  She  had  told  me  the  night  before 
that  the  ploughed  fields  were  something  awful,  and 
hoped  I  had  brought  short  skirts  and  thick  boots. 
I  think  the  sight  of  my  short  Scotch  homespun 
skirt  and  high  boots  reassured  her.  We  started 
about  11.30  in  an  open  carriage  with  plenty  of 
furs  and  wraps.  It  wasn't  really  very  cold — ^just 
a  nice  nip  in  the  air,  and  no  wind.  We  drove 
straight  into  the  woods  from  the  park.  There  is 
a  beautiful  green  alley  which  faces  one  just  going 
out  of  the  gate,  but  it  was  too  steep  to  mount  in  a 
carriage.  The  woods  are  very  extensive,  the  roads 
not  too   bad — considering  the  season,  extremely 

[71] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

well  kept.  Every  now  and  then  through  an  open- 
ing in  the  trees  we  had  a  pretty  view  over  the  plains. 
As  we  got  near  the  pavilion  we  heard  shots  not 
very  far  off — evidently  the  shooters  were  getting 
hungry  and  coming  our  way.  It  was  a  pretty 
rustic  scene  as  we  arrived.  The  pavilion,  a  log 
house,  standing  in  a  clearing,  alleys  branching  off 
in  every  direction,  a  horse  and  cart  which  had 
brought  the  provisions  from  the  chateau  tied  to 
one  of  the  trees.  It  was  shut  in  on  three  sides, 
wide  open  in  front,  a  bright  fire  burning  and  a  most 
appetizing  table  spread.  Just  outside  another  big 
fire  was  burning,  th^  cook  waiting  for  the  first 
sportsman  to  appear  to  begin  his  classic  dishes, 
omelette  au  lard  and  ragout  de  mouton.  I  was 
rather  hungry  and  asked  for  a  piece  of  the  pain  de 
menage  they  had  for  the  traqueurs  (beaters).  I 
like  the  brown  country  bread  so  much  better  than 
the  little  rolls  and  crisp  loaves  most  people  ask  for 
in  France.  Besides  our  own  breakfast  there  was 
an  enormous  pot  on  the  fire  with  what  looked  like 
an  excellent  substantial  soup  for  the  men.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  party  arrived;  first  the  shooters, 
each  man  carrying  his  gun;  then  the  game  cart, 
which  looked  very  well  garnished,  an  army  of 
beaters  bringing  up  the  rear.  They  made  quite  a 
picturesque  group,  all  dressed  in  white.  There 
have  been  so  many  accidents  in  some  of  the  big 

[72] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

shoots,  people  imprudently  firing  at  something 
moving  in  the  bushes,  which  proved  to  be  a  man 
and  not  a  roebuck,  that  M.  A.  dresses  all  his 
men  in  white.  The  gentlemen  were  very  cheerful, 
said  they  had  had  capital  sport,  and  were  quite 
ready  for  their  breakfast.  We  didn't  linger  very 
long  at  table,  as  the  days  were  shortening  fast,  and 
we  wanted  to  follow  some  of  the  battues.  The 
beaters  had  their  breakfast  while  we  were  having 
ours — were  all  seated  on  the  ground  around  a  big 
kettle  of  soup,  with  huge  hunks  of  brown  bread 
on  their  tin  plates. 

We  started  off  with  the  shooters.  Some  walking, 
some  driving,  and  had  one  pretty  battue  of  rabbits; 
after  that  two  of  pheasants,  which  were  most  amus- 
ing. There  were  plenty  of  birds,  and  they  came 
rocketing  over  our  heads  in  fine  style.  I  found 
that  Comtesse  de  B.  was  quite  right  about  the 
necessity  for  short  skirts  and  thick  boots.  We 
stood  on  the  edge  of  a  ploughed  field,  which  we  had 
to  cross  afterward  on  our  way  home,  and  I  didn't 
think  it  was  possible  to  have  such  cakes  of  mud 
as  we  had  on  our  boots.  We  scraped  ofif  some  with 
sticks,  but  our  boots  were  so  heavy  with  what  re- 
mained that  the  walk  home  was  tiring. 

Mme.  A.  was  standing  at  the  hall-door  when 
we  arrived,  and  requested  us  not  to  come  into  the 
hall,  but  to  go  in  by  the  lingerie  entrance  and  up 

[^3] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

the  back  stairs,  so  I  fancy  we  hadn't  got  much  dirt 
oflF.  I  had  a  nice  rest  until  4.30,  when  I  went  down 
to  the  salon  for  tea.  We  had  all  changed  our  out- 
door garments  and  got  into  rather  smart  day 
dresses  (none  of  those  ladies  wore  tea-gowns) .  The 
men  appeared  about  five ;  some  of  them  came  into 
the  salon  notwithstanding  their  muddy  boots,  and 
then  came  the  livre  de  chasse  and  the  recapitulation 
of  the  game,  which  is  always  most  amusing.  Every 
man  counted  more  pieces  than  his  beater  had  found. 
The  dinner  and  evening  were  pleasant,  the  guests 
changing  a  little.  Two  of  the  original  party  went 
off  before  dinner,  two  others  arrived,  one  of  them  a 
Cabinet  minister  (Finances).  He  was  very  clever 
and  defended  himself  well  when  his  policy  was 
freely  criticised.  While  we  women  were  alone 
after  dinner,  Mme.  A.  showed  me  how  to  make 
crochet  petticoats.  She  gave  me  a  crochet-needle 
and  some  wool  and  had  wonderful  patience,  for  it 
seemed  a  most  arduous  undertaking  to  me,  and  all 
my  rows  were  always  crooked;  however,  I  did 
learn,  and  have  made  hundreds  since.  All  the 
children  in  our  village  pull  up  their  little  frocks 
and  show  me  their  crochet  petticoats  whenever  we 
meet  them.  They  are  delighted  to  have  them,  for 
those  we  make  are  of  good  wool  (not  laine  de  bien- 
faisance,  which  is  stiff  and  coarse),  and  last  much 
longer  than  those  one  buys. 

[74] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

The  second  day  was  quite  different.  There  was 
no  shooting.  We  were  left  to  our  own  devices  until 
twelve  o'clock  breakfast.  W.  and  I  went  for  a 
short  stroll  in  the  park.  We  met  M.  A.,  who 
took  us  over  the  farm,  all  so  well  ordered  and  pros- 
perous. After  breakfast  we  had  about  an  hour  of 
salon  before  starting  for  the  regular  tournee  de 
proprietaire  through  park  and  gardens.  The  three 
ladies — Mme.  A.,  her  daughter,  and  daughter-in- 
law — ^had  beautiful  work.  Mme.  A.  was  mak- 
ing portieres  for  her  daughter's  room,  a  most 
elaborate  pattern,  reeds  and  high  plants,  a  very 
large  piece  of  work;  the  other  two  had  also  very 
complicated  work — one  a  table-cover,  velvet,  heav- 
ily embroidered,  the  other  a  church  ornament 
(almost  all  the  Frenchwomen  of  a  certain  monde 
turn  their  wedding  dresses,  usually  of  white  satin, 
into  a  priest's  vetement.  The  Catholic  priests 
have  all  sorts  of  vestments  which  they  wear  on 
different  occasions;  purple  in  Lent,  red  on  any 
martyr's  fete,  white  for  all  the  fetes  of  the  Virgin. 
Some  of  the  churches  are  very  rich  with  chasubles 
and  altar-cloths  trimmed  with  fine  old  lace,  which 
have  been  given  to  them.  It  looks  funny  some- 
times to  see  a  very  ordinary  country  cure,  a  farm- 
er's son,  with  a  heavy  peasant  face,  wearing  one  of 
those  delicate  white-satin  chasubles. 

Before  starting  to  join  the  shooters  at  break- 

[75] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

fast  Mme.  A.  took  me  all  over  the  house.  It  is 
really  a  beautiful  establishment,  very  large,  and 
most  comfortable.  Quantities  of  pictures  and  en- 
gravings, and  beautiful  Empire  furniture.  There 
is  quite  a  large  chapel  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  on 
the  ground-floor,  where  they  have  mass  every 
Sunday.  The  young  couple  have  a  charming  in- 
stallation, really  a  small  house,  in  one  of  the  wings 
— bedrooms,  dressing-rooms,  boudoir,  cabinet  de 
travail,  and  a  separate  entrance — so  that  M.  A. 
can  receive  any  one  who  comes  to  see  him  on 
business  without  having  them  pass  through  the 
chateau.  Mme.  A.  has  her  rooms  on  the 
ground-floor  at  the  other  end  of  the  house.  Her 
sitting-room  with  glass  door  opens  into  a  winter 
garden  filled  with  plants,  which  gives  on  the  park; 
her  bedroom  is  on  the  other  side,  looking  on  the 
court-yard ;  a  large  library  next  it,  light  and  space 
everywhere,  plenty  of  servants,  everything  ad- 
mirably arranged. 

The  evening  mail  goes  out  at  7.30,  and  every 
evening  at  seven  exactly  the  letter-carrier  came 
down  the  corridor  knocking  at  all  the  doors  and 
asking  for  letters.  He  had  stamps,  too,  at  least 
French  stamps.  I  could  never  get  a  foreign  stamp 
(twenty-five  centimes) — had  to  put  one  of  fifteen 
and  two  of  five  when  I  had  a  foreign  letter.  I 
don't  really  think  there  were  any  in  the  country. 

[76] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

I  don't  believe  they  had  a  foreign  correspondent 
of  any  description.  It  was  a  thoroughly  French 
establishment  of  the  best  kind. 

We  walked  about  the  small  park  and  gardens 
in  the  afternoon.  The  gardens  are  enormous; 
one  can  drive  through  them.  Mme.  A.  drove 
in  her  pony  carriage.  They  still  had  some  lovely 
late  roses  which  filled  me  with  envy — ours  were 
quite  finished. 

The  next  day  was  not  quite  so  fine,  gray  and 
misty,  but  a  good  shooting  day,  no  wind.  We 
joined  the  gentlemen  for  lunch  in  another  pavilion 
farther  away  and  rather  more  open  than  the  one 
of  the  other  day.  However,  we  were  warm  enough 
with  our  coats  on,  a  good  fire  burning,  and  hot 
bricks  for  our  feet.  The  battues  (aux  echelles) 
that  day  were  quite  a  new  experience  for  me.  I 
had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  The  shooters 
were  placed  in  a  semicircle,  not  very  far  apart. 
Each  man  was  provided  with  a  high  double  lad- 
der. The  men  stood  on  the  top  (the  women 
seated  themselves  on  the  rungs  of  the  ladders  and 
hung  on  as  well  as  they  could).  I  went  the  first 
time  with  W.,  and  he  made  me  so  many  recom- 
mendations that  I  was  quite  nervous.  I  mustn't 
sit  too  high  up  or  I  would  gener  him,  as  he  was 
obliged  to  shoot  down  for  the  rabbits;  and  I 
mustn't  sit  too  near  the  ground,  or  I  might  get  a 

[77] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

shot  in  the  ankles  from  one  of  the  other  men.  I 
can't  say  it  was  an  absolute  pleasure.  The  seat 
(if  seat  it  could  be  called)  was  anything  but  com- 
fortable, and  the  detonation  of  the  gun  just  over 
my  head  was  decidedly  trying;  still  it  was  a  novelty, 
and  if  the  other  women  could  stand  it  I  could. 

For  the  second  battue  I  went  with  Comte  de 
B.  That  was  rather  worse,  for  he  shot  much  oft- 
ener  than  W.,  and  I  was  quite  distracted  with 
the  noise  of  the  gun.  We  were  nearer  the  other 
shooters,  too,  and  I  fancied  their  aim  was  very 
near  my  ankles.  It  was  a  pretty  view  from  the 
top  of  the  ladder.  I  climbed  up  when  the  battues 
were  over.  We  looked  over  the  park  and  through 
the  trees,  quite  bare  and  stripped  of  their  leaves, 
on  the  great  plains,  with  hardly  a  break  of  wood 
or  hills,  stretching  away  to  the  horizon.  The 
ground  was  thickly  carpeted  with  red  and  yellow 
leaves,  little  columns  of  smoke  rising  at  intervals 
where  people  were  burning  weeds  or  rotten  wood 
in  the  fields;  and  just  enough  purple  mist  to 
poetize  everything.  B.  is  a  very  careful  shot.  I 
was  with  him  the  first  day  at  a  rabbit  battue 
where  we  were  placed  rather  near  each  other,  and 
every  man  was  asked  to  keep  quite  to  his  own 
place  and  to  shoot  straight  before  him.  After  one 
or  two  shots  B.  stepped  back  and  gave  his  gun 
to  his  servant.     I  asked  what  was  the  matter.     He 

[78] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

showed  me  the  man  next,  evidently  not  used  to 
shooting,  who  was  walking  up  and  down,  shooting 
in  every  direction,  and  as  fast  as  he  could  cram  the 
cartridges  into  his  gun.  So  he  stepped  back  into 
the  alley  and  waited  until  the  battue  was  over. 

The  party  was  much  smaller*  that  night  at  din- 
ner. Every  one  went  away  but  W.  and  me.  The 
talk  was  most  interesting — all  about  the  war,  the 
first  days  of  the  Assemblee  Nationale  at  Bordeaux, 
and  the  famous  visit  of  the  Comte  de  Chambord 
to  Versailles,  when  the  Marechal  de  MacMahon, 
President  of  the  Republic,  refused  to  see  him.  I 
told  them  of  my  first  evening  visit  to  Mme.  Thiers, 
the  year  I  was  married.  Mme.  Thiers  lived  in  a 
big  gloomy  house  in  the  Place  St.  Georges,  and 
received  every  evening.  M.  Thiers,  who  was  a 
great  worker  all  his  life  and  a  very  early  riser, 
always  took  a  nap  at  the  end  of  the  day.  The 
ladies  (Mile.  Dosne,  a  sister  of  Mme.  Thiers,  lived 
with  them)  unfortunately  had  not  that  good  habit. 
They  took  their  little  sleep  after  dinner.  We 
arrived  there  (it  was  a  long  way  from  us,  we  lived 
near  the  Arc  de  I'Etoile)  one  evening  a  little  before 
ten.  There  were  already  four  or  five  men,  no 
ladies.  We  were  shown  into  a  large  drawing-room, 
M.  Thiers  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace, 
the  centre  of  a  group  of  black  coats.  He  was  very 
amiable,  said  I  would  find  Mme.  Thiers  in  a  small 

[79] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

salon  just  at  the  end  of  the  big  one;  told  W.  to 
join  their  group,  he  had  something  to  say  to  him, 
and  I  passed  on.  I  did  find  Mme.  Thiers  and 
Mile.  Dosne  in  the  small  salon  at  the  other  end, 
both  asleep,  each  in  an  arm-chair.  I  was  really 
embarrassed.  They  didn't  hear  me  coming  in,  and 
\^ere  sleeping  quite  happily  and  comfortably.  I 
didn't  like  to  go  back  to  the  other  salon,  where 
there  were  only  men,  so  I  sat  down  on  a  sofa  and 
looked  about  me,  and  tried  to  feel  as  if  it  was  quite 
a  natural  occurrence  to  be  invited  to  come  in  the 
evening  and  to  find  my  hostess  asleep.  After  a 
few  minutes  t  heard  the  swish  of  a  satin  dress 
coming  down  the  big  salon  and  a  lady  appeared, 
very  handsome  and  well  dressed,  whom  I  didn't 
know  at  all.  She  evidently  was  accustomed  to  the 
state  of  things;  she  looked  about  her  smilingly, 
then  came  up  to  me,  called  me  by  name,  and  in- 
troduced herself,  Mme.  A.  the  wife  of  an  ad- 
miral whom  I  often  met  afterward.  She  told  me 
not  to  mind,  there  wasn't  the  slightest  intention  of 
rudeness,  that  both  ladies  would  wake  up  in  a 
few  minutes  quite  unconscious  of  having  really 
slept.  We  talked  about  ten  minutes,  not  lowering 
our  voices  particularly.  Suddenly  Mme.  Thiers 
opened  her  eyes,  was  wide  awake  at  once — how 
quietly  we  must  have  come  in;  she  had  only  just 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  the  lights  tired  her, 

|80J 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

etc.  Mile.  Dosne  said  the  same  thing,  and  then 
we  went  on  talking  easily  enough.  Several  more 
ladies  came  in,  but  only  two  or  three  men.  They 
all  remained  in  the  farther  room  talking,  or  rather 
listening,  to  M.  Thiers.  He  was  already  a  very 
old  man,  and  when  he  began  to  talk  no  one 
interrupted  him;  it  was  almost  a  monologue.  I 
went  back  several  times  to  the  Place  St.  Georges, 
but  took  good  care  to  go  later,  so  that  the  ladies 
should  have  their  nap  over.  One  of  the  young 
diplomat's  wives  had  the  same  experience,  rather 
worse,  for  when  the  ladies  woke  up  they  didn't 
know  her.  She  was  very  shy,  spent  a  wretched 
ten  minutes  before  they  woke,  and  was  too  ner- 
vous to  name  herself.  She  was  half  crying  when 
her  husband  came  to  the  rescue. 

We  left  the  next  morning  early,  as  W.  had 
people  coming  to  him  in  the  afternoon.  I  enjoyed 
my  visit  thoroughly,  and  told  them  afterward  of 
my  misgivings  and  doubts  as  to  how  I  should  get 
along  with  strangers  for  two  or  three  days.  I 
think  they  had  rather  the  same  feeling.  They 
were  very  old  friends  of  my  husband's,  and  though 
they  received  me  charmingly  from  the  first,  it 
brought  a  foreign  and  new  element  into  their  circle. 

Another  interesting  old  chateau,  most  pictur- 
esque,   with    towers,    moat,   and    drawbridge,   is 

[81] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

Lorrey-le-Bocage,  belonging  to  the  Comte  de 
S.  It  stands  very  well,  in  a  broad  moat — 
the  water  clear  and  rippling  and  finishing  in  a 
pretty  little  stream  that  runs  oflp  through  the 
meadows.  The  place  is  beautifully  kept — ^gar- 
dens, lawns,  courts,  in  perfect  order.  It  has  no 
particular  historic  interest  for  the  family,  having 
been  bought  by  the  parents  of  the  present 
owner. 

I  was  there,  the  first  time,  in  very  hot  weather, 
the  14th  of  July  (the  French  National  fete  com- 
memorating the  fall  of  the  Bastille).  I  went  for 
a  stroll  in  the  park  the  morning  after  I  arrived, 
but  I  collapsed  under  a  big  tree  at  once — hadn't 
the  energy  to  move.  Everything  looked  so  hot  and 
not  a  breath  of  air  anywhere.  The  moat  looked 
glazed — so  absolutely  still  under  the  bright  sum- 
mer sun — big  flies  were  buzzing  and  skimming 
over  the  surface,  and  the  flowers  and  plants  were 
drooping  in  their  beds. 

Inside  it  was  delightful,  the  walls  so  thick  that 
neither  heat  nor  cold  could  penetrate.  The  house 
is  charming.  The  big  drawing-room — where  we 
always  sat — was  a  large,  bright  room  with  win- 
dows on  each  side  and  lovely  views  over  park  and 
gardens ;  and  all  sorts  of  family  portraits  and  sou- 
venirs dating  from  Louis  XV  to  the  Comte  de 
Paris.     The  men  of  the  family — all  ardent  Royal- 

[82] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

ists — have  been,  for  generations,  distinguished  as 
soldiers  and  statesmen. 

One  of  them — a  son  of  the  famous  Mareehal  de 
S,  brought  up  in  the  last  years  of  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV — carried  his  youthful  ardour  and  dreams 
of  liberty  to  America  and  took  part,  as  did  so 
many  of  the  young  French  nobles,  in  the  great 
struggle  for  independence  that  was  being  fought 
out  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Soon  after 
bis  return  to  France  he  was  named  Ambassador  to 
Russia  to  the  court  of  Catherine  II,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  very  much  in  the  good  graces 
of  that  very  pleasure-loving  sovereign.  He  ac- 
companied her  on  her  famous  trip  to  the  Crimea, 
arranged  for  her  by  her  minister  and  favourite, 
Potemkin — ^when  fairy  villages,  with  happy  popu- 
lations singing  and  dancing,  sprang  up  in  the  road 
wherever  she  passed  as  if  by  magic — quite  dis- 
pelling her  ideas  of  the  poverty  and  oppression  of 
some  of  her  subjects. 

Among  the  portraits  there  is  a  miniature  of  the 
Empress  Catherine.  It  is  a  fine,  strongly  marked 
face.  She  wears  a  high  fur  cap — a  sort  of  military 
pelisse  with  lace  jabots  and  diamond  star.  The  son 
of  the  Mareehal,  also  soldier  and  courtier,  was  aide- 
de-camp  to  Napoleon  and  made  almost  all  his  cam- 
paigns with  him.  His  description  of  the  Russian 
campaign  and  the  retreat  of  the  "Grande  Armee" 

[83] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

from  Moscow  is  one  of  the  most  graphic  and  in- 
teresting that  has  ever  been  written  of  those  awful 
days.  His  memoirs  are  quite  charming.  Child- 
hood and  early  youth  passed  in  the  country  in  all 
the  agonies  of  the  Terror — simply  and  severely 
brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  absolutely  hostile  to 
any  national  or  popular  movement. 

The  young  student,  dreaming  of  a  future  and 
regeneration  for  France,  arrived  one  day  in  Paris, 
where  an  unwonted  stir  denoted  that  something 
was  going  on.  He  heard  and  saw  the  young 
Republican  General  Bonaparte  addressing  some 
regiments.  He  marked  the  proud  bearing  of  the 
men — even  the  recruits — and  in  an  explosion  of 
patriotism  his  vocation  was  decided.  He  enlisted 
at  once  in  the  Republican  ranks.  It  was  a  terrible 
decision  to  confide  to  his  family,  and  particularly 
to  his  grandfather,  the  old  Marechal  de  S.  a 
glorious  veteran  of  many  campaigns  and  an  ardent 
Royalist.  His  father  approved,  although  it  was  a 
terrible  falling  off  from  all  the  lessons  and  exam- 
ples of  his  family — but  it  was  a  difficult  confession 
to  make  to  the  Marechal.  I  will  give  the  scene  in 
his  own  words  (translated,  of  course — the  original 
is  in  French). 

"I  was  obliged  to  return  to  Chalenoy  to  relate 
my  '  coup-de-tete '  to  my  grandfather.  I  arrived 
early  in  the  morning  and  approached  his  bed  in 

[84] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

the  most  humble  attitude.  He  said  to  me,  very 
sharply,  'You  have  been  unfaithful  to  all  the 
traditions  of  your  ancestors — but  it  is  done.  Re- 
member that  you  have  enlisted  voluntarily  in  the 
Republican  army;  serve  it  frankly  and  loyally,  for 
your  decision  is  made,  you  cannot  now  go  back 
on  it.'  Then  seeing  the  tears  running  down  my 
cheeks  (he  too  was  moved),  and  taking  my  hand 
with  the  only  one  he  had  left,  he  drew  me  to  him 
and  pressed  me  on  his  heart.  Then  giving  me 
seventy  louis  (it  was  all  he  had),  he  added,  'This 
will  help  you  to  complete  your  equipment — go, 
and  at  least  carry  bravely  and  faithfully,  under 
the  flag  it  has  pleased  you  to  choose,  the  name  you 
bear  and  the  honour  of  your  family.'" 

The  present  Count,  too,  has  played  a  part  in 
politics  in  these  troublous  times,  when  decisions 
were  almost  as  hard  to  take,  and  one  was  torn 
between  the  desire  to  do  something  for  one's 
country  and  the  diflficulty  of  detaching  oneself 
from  old  traditions  and  memories.  People  whose 
grandfathers  have  died  on  the  scaffold  can  hardly 
be  expected  to  be  enthusiastic  about  the  Republic 
and  the  Marseillaise.  Yet  if  the  nation  wants 
the  Republic,  and  every  election  accentuates  that 
opinion,  it  is  very  dijBScult  to  fight  against  the 
current. 

When  I  first  married,  just  after  the  Franco- 

[85] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

Prussian  War,  there  seemed  some  chance  of  the 
moderate  men,  on  both  sides,  joining  in  a  common 
effort  against  the  radical  movement,  putting  them- 
selves at  the  head  of  it  and  in  that  way  directing 
and  controlling — but  very  soon  the  different  sec- 
tions in  parliament  defined  themselves  so  sharply 
that  any  sort  of  compromise  was  difficult.  My 
host  was  named  deputy,  immediately  after  the 
war,  and  though  by  instinct,  training,  and  associa- 
tion a  Royalist  and  a  personal  friend  of  the  Orleans 
family,  he  was  one  of  a  small  group  of  liberal- 
patriotic  deputies  who  might  have  supported 
loyally  a  moderate  Republic  had  the  other  Repub- 
licans not  made  their  position  untenable.  There 
was  an  instinctive,  unreasonable  distrust  of  any 
of  the  old  families  whose  names  and  antecedents 
had  kept  them  apart  from  any  republican  move- 
ment. 

We  had  pleasant  afternoons  in  the  big  drawing- 
room.  In  the  morning  we  did  what  we  liked. 
The  Maitresse  de  Maison  never  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room  till  the  twelve  o'clock  breakfast.  I 
used  to  see  her  from  my  window,  coming  and 
going — sometimes  walking,  when  she  was  making 
the  round  of  the  farm  and  garden,  oftener  in  her 
little  pony  carriage  and  occasionally  in  the  auto- 
mobile of  her  niece,  who  was  staying  in  the  house. 
She  occupied  herself  very  much  with  all  the  village 

[86] 


COUNTRY  VISITS 

— old  people  and  children,  everybody.  After 
breakfast  we  used  to  sit  sometimes  in  the  drawing- 
room — the  two  ladies  working,  the  Comte  de  S. 
reading  his  paper  and  telling  us  anything  interest- 
ing he  found  there.  Both  ladies  had  most  artistic 
work — Mme.  de  S.  a  church  ornament,  white 
satin  ground  with  raised  flowers  and  garlands, 
stretched,  of  course,  on  the  large  embroidery 
frames  they  all  use.  Her  niece,  Duchesse  d'E., 
had  quite  another  "installation"  in  one  of  the 
windows — a  table  with  all  sorts  of  delicate  little 
instruments.  She  was  book-binding — doing  quite 
lovely  things  in  imitation  of  the  old  French  bind- 
ing. It  was  a  work  that  required  most  delicate 
manipulation,  but  she  seemed  to  do  it  quite  easily. 
I  was  rather  humiliated  with  my  little  knit  petti- 
coats— ^very  hot  work  it  is  on  a  blazing  July  day. 


|87J 


in 

THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

1A  GRANGE  was  looking  its  loveliest  when  I 
-'  arrived  the  other  day.  It  was  a  bright, 
beautiful  October  afternoon  and  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  chateau  was  most  picturesque.  It  was  all 
the  more  striking  as  the  run  down  from  Paris  was 
so  ugly  and  commonplace.  The  suburbs  of  Paris 
around  the  Gare  de  I'Est — the  Plain  of  St.  Denis 
and  all  the  small  villages,  with  kitchen  gardens, 
rows  of  green  vegetables  under  glass  "cloches" — 
are  anything  but  interesting.  It  was  not  until  we 
got  near  Grety  and  alongside  of  Ferrieres,  the  big 
Rothschild  place,  that  w^  seemed  to  be  in  the 
country.  The  broad  green  alleys  of  the  park,  with 
the  trees  just  changing  a  little,  were  quite  charm- 
ing. Our  station  was  Verneuil  I'Etang,  a  quiet 
little  country  station  dumped  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  fields,  and  a  drive  of  about  fifty  minutes 
brought  us  to  the  chateau.  The  country  is  not  at 
all  pretty,  always  the  same  thing — ^great  cultivated 
fields  stretching  off  on  each  side  of  the  road — every 

[881 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

now  and  then  a  little  wood  or  clump  of  trees. 
One  does  not  see  the  chateau  from  the  high 
road. 

We  turned  off  sharply  to  the  left  and  at  the  end 
of  a  long  avenue  saw  the  house,  half  hidden  by  the 
trees.  The  entrance  through  a  low  archway, 
flanked  on  each  side  by  high  round  towers  covered 
with  ivy,  is  most  picturesque.  The  chateau  is 
built  around  three  sides  of  a  square  court-yard, 
the  other  side  looking  straight  over  broad  green 
meadows  ending  in  a  background  of  wood.  A 
moat  runs  almost  all  around  the  house — a  border 
of  salvias  making  a  belt  of  colour  which  is  most 
effective.  We  found  the  family — Marquis  and 
Marquise  de  Lasteyrie  and  their  two  sons — waiting 
at  the  hall  door.  The  Marquis,  great-grandson 
of  the  General  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  is  a  type  of 
the  well-born,  courteous  French  gentleman  (one  of 
the  most  attractive  types,  to  my  mind,  that  one 
can  meet  anywhere).  There  is  something  in  per- 
fectly well-bred  French  people  of  a  certain  class 
that  one  never  sees  in  any  other  nationality.  Such 
refinement  and  charm  of  manner — a  great  desire 
to  put  every  one  at  their  ease  and  to  please  the 
person  with  whom  they  are  thrown  for  the  mo- 
ment. That,  after  all,  is  all  one  cares  for  in  the 
casual  acquaintances  one  makes  in  society.  From 
friends,  of  course,  we  want  something  deeper  and 

[89] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

more  lasting,  but  life  is  too  short  to  find  out 
the  depth  and  sterling  qualities  of  the  world  in 
general. 

The  Marquise  is  an  Englishwoman,  a  cousin  of 
her  husband,  their  common  ancestor  being  the 
Duke  of  Leinster;  clever,  cultivated,  hospitable, 
and  very  large  minded,  which  has  helped  her  very 
much  in  her  married  life  in  France  during  our 
troubled  epoch,  when  religious  questions  and  po- 
litical discussions  do  so  much  to  embitter  personal 
relations.  The  two  sons  are  young  and  gay,  doing 
the  honours  of  their  home  simply  and  with  no  pose 
of  any  kind.  There  were  two  English  couples 
staying  in  the  house. 

We  had  tea  in  the  dining-room  downstairs — a 
large  room  with  panels  and  chimney-piece  of  dark 
carved  wood.  Two  portraits  of  men  in  armour 
stand  out  well  from  the  dark  background.  There 
is  such  a  wealth  of  pictures,  engravings,  and 
tapestries  all  over  the  house  that  one  cannot  take 
it  all  in  at  first.  The  two  drawing-rooms  on  the 
first  floor  are  large  and  comfortable,  running 
straight  through  the  house;  the  end  room  in  the 
tower — a  round  room  with  windows  on  all  sides — 
quite  charming.  The  contrast  between  the  mod- 
ern— ^English — comforts  (low,  wide  chairs,  writing- 
table,  rugs,  cushions,  and  centre-table  covered  with 
books  in  all  languages,  a  verv  rare  thing  in  a 

[90] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

French  chateau,  picture  papers,  photographs,  etc.) 
and  the  straight-backed,  spindle-legged  old  fur- 
niture and  stiff,  old-fashioned  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, looking  down  from  their  heavy  gold  frames, 
is  very  attractive.  There  is  none  of  the  formality 
and  look  of  not  being  lived  in  which  one  sees  in  so 
many  French  salons,  and  yet  it  is  not  at  all  mod- 
ern. One  never  loses  for  a  moment  the  feeling  of 
being  in  an  old  chateau-fort. 

It  was  so  pretty  looking  out  of  my  bedroom 
window  this  morning.  It  was  a  bright,  beautiful 
autumn  day,  the  grass  still  quite  green.  Some  of 
the  trees  changing  a  little,  the  yellow  leaves  quite 
golden  in  the  sun.  There  are  many  American 
trees  in  the  park — a  splendid  Virginia  Creeper,  and 
a  Gloire  de  Dijon  rose-bush,  still  full  of  bloom, 
were  sprawling  over  the  old  gray  walls.  Animals  of 
all  kinds  were  walking  about  the  court-yard ;  some 
swans  and  a  lame  duck,  which  had  wandered  up 
from  the  moat,  standing  on  the  edge  and  looking 
about  with  much  interest;  a  lively  little  fox-ter- 
rier, making  frantic  dashes  at  nothing;  one  of  the 
sons  starting  for  a  shoot  with  gaiters  and  game-bag, 
and  his  gun  over  his  shoulder,  his  dog  at  his  heels 
expectant  and  eager.  Some  of  the  guests  were 
strolling  about  and  from  almost  all  the  windows — 
wide  open  to  let  in  the  warm  morning  sun — ^there 
came  cheerful  greetings. 

[91] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

I  went  for  a  walk  around  the  house  before  break- 
fast. There  are  five  large  round  towers  covered 
with  ivy — the  walls  extraordinarily  thick — the  nar- 
row little  slits  for  shooting  with  arrows  and  the 
round  holes  for  cannon  balls  tell  their  own  story 
of  rough  feudal  life.  On  one  side  of  the  castle 
there  is  a  large  hole  in  the  wall,  made  by  a  cannon 
ball  sent  by  Turenne.  He  was  passing  one  day 
and  asked  to  whom  the  chateau  belonged.  On 
hearing  that  the  owner  was  the  Marechal  de  la 
Feuillade,  one  of  his  political  adversaries,  he  sent 
a  canhon  ball  as  a  souvenir  of  his  passage,  and  the 
gap  has  never  been  filled  up. 

I  went  all  over  the  house  later  with  the  Marquis 
de  Lasteyrie.  Of  course,  what  interested  me  most 
was  Lafayette's  private  apartments — bedroom  and 
library — the  latter  left  precisely  as  it  was  during 
Lafayette's  lifetime;  bookcases  filled  with  his 
books  in  their  old-fashioned  bindings,  running 
straight  around  the  walls  and  a  collection  of  manu- 
scripts and  autograph  letters  from  kings  and 
queens  of  France  and  most  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
days  of  the  Valois — among  them  several  letters 
from  Catherine  de  Medicis,  Henry  IV,  and  la  Reine 
Margot.  One  curious  one  from  Queen  Margot  in 
which  she  explains  to  the  Vicomte  de  Chabot  (an- 
cestor of  my  host)  that  she  was  very  much  pre- 
occupied in  looking  out  for  a  wife  for  him  with  a 

[92] 


THE  HOME   OF  LAFAYETTE 

fine  dot,  but  that  it  was  always  diflBcult  to  find  a 
rich  heiress  for  a  poor  seigneur. 

There  are  also  autographs  of  more  modern  days, 
among  which  is  a  letter  from  an  English  prince  to 
the  Vicomte  de  Chabot  (grandfather  of  the  Mar- 
quis de  Lasteyrie),  saying  that  he  loses  no  time  in 
telling  him  of  the  birth  of  a  very  fine  little  girl.  He 
certainly  never  realized  when  he  wrote  that  letter 
what  would  be  the  future  of  his  baby  daughter. 
The  writer  was  the  Duke  of  Kent — ^the  fine  little 
girl,  Queen  Victoria. 

In  a  deep  window-seat  in  one  corner,  overlooking 
the  farm,  is  the  writing-table  of  Lafayette.  In  the 
drawers  are  preserved  several  books  of  accounts, 
many  of  the  items  being  in  his  handwriting.  Also 
his  leather  arm-chair  (which  was  exhibited  at  the 
Chicago  World's  Fair),  and  a  horn  or  speaking- 
trumpet  through  which  he  gave  his  orders  to  the 
farm  hands  from  the  window.  The  library  opened 
into  his  bedroom — now  the  boudoir  of  the  Mar- 
quise de  Lasteyrie — with  a  fine  view  over  moat  and 
meadow.  In  this  room  there  have  been  many 
changes,  but  the  old  doors  of  carved  oak  still 
remain. 

There  are  many  interesting  family  portraits — 
one  of  the  father  of  Lafayette,  killed  at  Minden, 
leaving  his  young  son  to  be  brought  up  by  two  aunts, 
whose  portraits  are  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace. 

[93] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

It  is  curious  to  see  the  two  portraits  of  the  same 
epoch  so  absolutely  unlike.  Mme.  de  Chavagnac, 
an  old  lady,  very  simply  dressed,  almost  Puritan- 
ical, with  a  white  muslin  fichu  over  her  plain  black 
silk  dress — ^the  other.  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette, 
in  the  court  dress  of  the  time  of  Louis  XVI,  pearls 
and  roses  in  the  high,  powdered  coiflfure  and  a 
bunch  of  orange  flowers  on  one  shoulder,  to  indi- 
cate that  she  was  not  a  married  woman. 

There  were  pictures  and  souvenirs  of  all  the 
Orleans  family — ^the  Lasteyries  having  been  always 
faithful  and  devoted  friends  of  those  unfortunate 
princes;  a  charming  engraving  of  the  Comte  de 
Paris,  a  noble  looking  boy  in  all  the  bravery  of 
white  satin  and  feathers — ^the  original  picture  is  in 
the  possession  of  the  Due  de  Chartres.  It  was  sad 
to  realize  when  one  looked  at  the  little  prince  with 
his  bright  eyes  and  proud  bearing,  that  the  end  of 
his  life  would  be  so  melancholy — exile  and  deatb 
in  a  foreign  land. 

There  are  all  sorts  of  interesting  pictures  and 
engravings  scattered  about  the  house  in  the  num- 
berless corridors  and  anterooms.  One  most  in- 
tei^esting  and  very  rare  print  represents  a  review 
at  Potsdam  held  by  Frederick  the  Great.  Two 
conspicuous  figures  are  the  young  Marquis  de 
Lafayette  in  powdered  wig  and  black  silk  ribbon, 
and  the  English  General  Lord  Cornwallis,  destined 

[94] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

to  meet  as  adversaries  many  years  later  during 
the  American  Revolution.  There  are  many  family 
pictures  on  the  great  stone  staircase,  both  French 
and  English,  the  Marquis  de  Lasteyrie,  on  the  ma- 
ternal side,  being  a  great-grandson  of  the  Duke  of 
Leinster.  Some  of  the  English  portraits  are  very 
charming,  quite  different  from  the  French  pictures. 

In  the  centre  panel  is  the  well-known  portrait  of 
Lafayette  by  Ary  Scheffer — not  in  uniform — no 
trace  of  the  dashing  young  soldier;  a  middle-aged 
man  in  a  long  fur  coat,  hat  and  stick  in  his  hand; 
looking,  as  one  can  imagine  he  did  when  he  settled 
down,  after  his  brilliant  and  eventful  career,  to  the 
simple  patriarchal  life  at  La  Grange,  surrounded 
by  devoted  children,  grandchildren,  and  friends. 

We  were  interrupted  long  before  I  had  seen  all 
the  interesting  part  of  the  house  and  its  contents, 
as  it  was  time  to  start  for  La  Houssaye,  where  all 
the  party  were  expected  at  tea.  We  went  ofif  in 
three  carriages — quite  like  a  "noce,"  as  the  Mar- 
quise remarked.  The  drive  (about  an  hour)  was 
not  particularly  interesting.  We  were  in  the  heart 
of  the  great  agricultural  district  and  drove  through 
kilometres  of  planted  fields — no  hills  and  few 
woods. 

We  came  rather  suddenly  on  the  chateau,  which 
stands  low,  like  all  chateaux  surrounded  by  moats, 
turning  directly  from  the  little  village  into  the 

195] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

park,  which  is  beautifully  laid  out  with  fine  old 
trees.  We  had  glimpses  of  a  lovely  garden  as  we 
drove  up  to  the  house,  and  of  two  old  towers — one 
round  and  one  square.  The  chateau  stands  well — 
a  very  broad  moat,  almost  a  river,  running  straight 
around  the  house  and  gardens.  We  crossed  the 
drawbridge,  which  always  gives  me  a  sensation  of 
old  feudal  times  and  recalls  the  days  of  my  child- 
hood when  I  used  to  sit  under  the  sickle-pear 
tree  at  "Cherry  Lawn"  reading  Scott's  "Mar- 
mion" — "Up  drawbridge,  grooms — what,  Warder, 
ho!  Let  the  portcullis  fall!"  wondering  what  a 
"portcullis"  was,  and  if  I  should  ever  see  one  or 
even  a  chateau-fort. 

La  Houssaye  is  an  old  castle  built  in  the  eleventh 
century,  but  has  passed  through  many  vicissitudes. 
All  that  remains  of  the  original  building  are  the 
towers  and  the  foundations.  It  was  restored  in 
the  sixteenth  century  and  has  since  remained  un- 
changed. During  the  French  Revolution  the  fam- 
ily of  the  actual  proprietor  installed  themselves  in 
one  of  the  towers  and  lived  there  many  long  weary 
weeks,  never  daring  to  venture  out,  show  any 
lights,  or  give  any  sign  of  life — in  daily  terror  of 
being  discovered  and  dragged  to  Paris  before  the 
dreaded  revolutionary  tribunals.  Later  it  was 
given,  by  Napoleon,  to  the  Marshall  Augereau, 
who  died  there.     It  has  since  been  in  the  family  of 

[96] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

the  present  proprietor,  Monsieur  de  Mimont,  who 
married  an  American,  Miss  Forbes. 

The  rain,  which  had  been  threatening  all  the 
afternoon,  came  down  in  torrents  just  as  we 
crossed  the  drawbridge,  much  to  the  disappoint- 
ment of  our  host  and  hostess,  who  were  anxious  to 
show  us  their  garden,  which  is  famous  in  all  the 
countryside.  However,  in  spite  of  the  driving 
rain,  we  caught  glimpses  through  the  windows  of 
splendid  parterres  of  salvias  and  cannas,  making 
great  spots  of  colour  in  a  beautiful  bit  of  smooth 
green  lawn.  In  old  days  the  chateau  was  much 
bigger,  stretching  out  to  the  towers.  Each  suc- 
cessive proprietor  has  diminished  the  buildings, 
and  the  present  chateau,  at  the  back,  stands  some 
little  distance  from  the  moat,  the  vacant  space 
being  now  transformed  into  their  beautiful  gardens. 

We  only  saw  the  ground-floor  of  the  house, 
which  is  most  comfortable.  We  left  our  wraps 
in  the  large  square  hall  and  passed  through  one 
drawing-room  and  a  small  library  into  another, 
which  is  charming — a  corner  room  looking  on  the 
gardens — the  walls,  panels  of  light  gray  wood, 
prettily  carved  with  wreaths  and  flowers. 

We  had  tea  in  the  dining-room  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hall ;  a  curious  room,  rather,  with  red  brick 
walls  and  two  old  narrow  doors  of  carved  oak. 
The   tea — ^most   abundant — was   very   acceptable 

[97] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

after  our  long  damp  drive.  One  dish  was  rather 
a  surprise — ^American  waffles — not  often  to  be 
found,  I  imagine,  in  an  old  French  feudal  castle, 
but  Madame  de  Mimont's  nationality  explained  it. 
I  was  very  sorry  not  to  see  the  park  which  is 
beautifully  laid  out,  but  the  rain  was  falling 
straight  down  as  hard  as  it  could — almost  making 
waves  in  the  moat,  and  a  curtain  of  mist  cut  off 
the  end  of  the  park. 

Our  dinner  and  evening  at  La  Grange  were  de- 
lightful. The  dining-room  is  particularly  charm- 
ing at  night.  The  flowers  on  the  table,  this  even- 
ing, were  red,  and  the  lights  from  the  handsome 
silver  candelabres  made  a  brilliant  spot  of  warmth 
and  colour  against  the  dark  panelled  walls — ^just 
shining  on  the  armour  of  the  fine  Ormond  por- 
traits hanging  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace.  The 
talk  was  always  easy  and  pleasant. 

One  of  the  guests,  the  naval  attache  to  the 
British  Embassy  to  France,  had  been  "en  mis- 
sion" at  Madrid  at  the  time  of  the  Spanish  Royal 
marriage.  The  balcony  of  the  English  Embassy 
overlooked  the  spot  where  the  bomb  was  thrown. 
In  eighty-five  seconds  from  the  time  they  heard 
the  detonation  (in  the  first  second  they  thought  it 
was  a  salute),  the  Ambassador,  followed  by  his 
suite,  was  at  the  door  of  the  royal  carriage.  He 
said  the  young  sovereigns  looked  very  pale  but 

[98] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

calm;  the  king,  perhaps,  more  agitated  than  the 
Queen. 

We  finished  the  evening  with  music  and  dumb 
crambo — that  particularly  English  form  of  amuse- 
ment, which  I  have  never  seen  well  done  except 
by  English  people.  It  always  fills  me  with  as- 
tonishment whenever  I  see  it.  It  is  so  at  variance 
with  the  English  character.  They  are  usually  so 
very  shy  and  self-conscious.  One  would  never 
believe  they  could  throw  themselves  into  this 
really  childish  game  with  so  much  entrain.  The 
performance  is  simple  enough.  Some  of  the  com- 
pany retire  from  the  drawing-room;  those  who 
remain  choose  a  word — chair,  hat,  cat,  etc.  This 
evening  the  word  was  *'mat."  We  told  the  two 
actors — Mrs.  P.  and  the  son  of  the  house — 
they  must  act  (nothing  spoken)  a  word  which 
rhymed  with  liaL  I  will  say  they  found  it  very 
quickly,  but  some  of  their  attempts  were  funny 
enough — ^really  very  cleverly  done.  It  amused  me 
perfectly,  though  I  must  frankly  confess  I  should 
have  been  incapable  of  either  acting  or  guessing 
the  word.  The  only  one  I  made  out  was  fat, 
when  they  both  came  in  so  stujBEed  out  with  pil- 
lows and  bolsters  as  to  be  almost  unrecognizable. 
The  two  dogs — a  beautiful  little  fox-terrier  and  a 
fine  collie — went  nearly  mad,  barking  and  yapping 
every  time  the  couple  appeared — ^their  excitement 

[99] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

reaching  a  climax  when  the  actors  came  in  and 
stretched  themselves  out  on  each  side  of  the  door, 
having  finally  divined  the  word  mat.  The  dogs 
made  such  frantic  dashes  at  them  that  M.  and 
Mme.  de  Lasteyrie  had  to  carry  them  off  bodily. 

The  next  morning  I  went  for  a  walk  with  M.  de 
Lasteyrie.  We  strolled  up  and  down  the  "Allee 
des  Soupirs,"  so  called  in  remembrance  of  one  of 
the  early  chatelaines  who  trailed  her  mourning 
robes  and  widow's  veil  over  the  fallen  leaves,  be- 
moaning her  solitude  until  a  favoured  suitor  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  and  carried  her  away  to  his 
distant  home — but  the  Allee  still  retains  its  name. 

The  park  is  small,  but  very  well  laid  out.  Many 
of  the  memoirs  of  the  time  speak  of  walks  and 
talks  with  Lafayette  under  the  beautiful  trees. 

During  the  last  years  of  Lafayette's  life,  La 
Grange  was  a  cosmopolitan  centre.  Distinguished 
people  from  all  countries  came  there,  anxious  to  see 
the  great  champion  of  liberty;  among  them  many 
Americans,  who  always  found  a  gracious,  cordial 
welcome;  one  silent  guest — a  most  curious  epi- 
sode which  I  will  give  in  the  words  of  the  Marquis 
de  Lasteyrie: 

"One  American,  however,  in  Lafayette's  own 
time,  came  on  a  lonely  pilgrimage  to  La  Grange; 
he  was  greeted  with  respect,  but  of  that  greeting 
he  took  no  heed.     He  was  a  silent  guest,  nor  has  he 

[100] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAPAYET'J-K 

left  any  record  of  his  impressions;  in  fact,  he 
was  dead  before  starting  on  his  journey.  He 
arrived  quite  simply  one  fine  autumn  morning,  in 
his  coffin,  accompanied  by  a  letter  which  said: 
'William  Summerville,  having  the  greatest  ad- 
miration for  the  General  Lafayette,  begs  he  will 
bury  him  in  his  land  at  La  Grange.'  This,  being 
against  the  law,  could  not  be  done,  but  Lafayette 
bought  the  whole  of  the  small  cemetery  of  the 
neighbouring  village  and  laid  the  traveller  from 
over  the  sea  to  rest  in  his  ground  indeed,  though 
not  under  one  of  the  many  American  trees  at  La 
Grange  itself,  of  which  the  enthusiastic  wanderer 
had  probably  dreamed." 

They  told  me  many  interesting  things,  too  long 
to  write,  about  the  last  years  of  Lafayette's  life 
spent  principally  at  La  Grange.  A  charming  ac- 
count of  that  time  and  the  lavish  hospitality  of  the 
chateau  is  given  by  Lady  Morgan,  in  her  well- 
known  "Diary."  Some  of  her  descriptions  are 
most  amusing;  the  arrival,  for  instance,  of  Lady 
Holland  at  the  home  of  the  Republican  General. 
"She  is  always  preceded  by  a  fourgon  from  Lon- 
don containing  her  own  favourite  meubles  of 
Holland  House — ^her  bed,  fauteuil,  carpet,  etc., 
and  divers  other  articles  too  numerous  to  mention, 
but  which  enter  into  her  Ladyship's  superflu- 
choses  tres  necessaires,  at  least  to  a  grande  dame — 

[101] 


"  CHil^EAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

one  of  her  female  attendants  and  a  groom  of  the 
chambers  precede  her  to  make  all  ready  for  her 
reception.  However,  her  original  manner,  though 
it  startles  the  French  ladies,  amuses  them." 

Her  Irish  ladyship  (Lady  Morgan)  seems  to 
have  been  troubled  by  no  shyness  in  asking  ques- 
tions of  the  General.  She  writes:  "Is  it  true. 
General,  I  asked,  that  you  once  went  to  a  bal 
masque  at  the  opera  with  the  Queen  of  France — 
Marie  Antoinette — ^leaning  on  your  arm,  the  King 
knowing  nothing  of  the  matter  till  her  return  ?  I 
am  afraid  so,  said  he.  She  was  so  indiscreet,  and 
I  can  conscientiously  add — so  innocent.  However, 
the  Comte  d'Artois  was  also  of  the  party,  and  we 
were  all  young,  enterprising,  and  pleasure-loving. 
But  what  is  most  absurd  in  the  adventure  was 
that,  when  I  pointed  out  Mme.  du  Barry  to  her — 
whose  figure  and  favourite  domino  I  knew — the 
Queen  expressed  the  most  anxious  desire  to  hear 
her  speak  and  bade  me  intriguer  her.  She  an- 
swered me  flippantly,  and  I  am  sure  if  I  had 
offered  her  my  other  arm,  the  Queen  would  not 
have  objected  to  it.  Such  was  the  esprit  d'aven- 
ture  at  that  time  in  the  court  of  Versailles  and  in 
the  head  of  the  haughty  daughter  of  Austria." 

I  remember  quite  well  the  parents  of  my  host. 
The  Marquise,  a  type  of  the  grande  dame,  with 
blue  eyes  and  snow  white  hair   survived  her  hus- 

[102] 


THE  HOME  OF  LAFAYETTE 

band  many  years.  During  the  war  of  1870  they, 
like  many  other  chatelains,  had  Prussian  soldiers 
in  their  house.  The  following  characteristic  anec- 
dote of  the  Marquise  was  told  to  me  by  her  son: 

"There  are  still  to  be  seen  at  La  Grange  two 
little  cannon  which  had  been  given  to  Lafayette 
by  the  Garde  Nationale.  One  December  morning, 
in  1870,  when  the  house  was  full  of  German  troops, 
Madame  de  Lasteyrie  was  awakened  by  a  noise 
under  the  archway,  and  looking  out  of  her  window 
saw,  in  the  dim  light,  the  two  guns  being  carried 
off  by  the  German  soldiers.  In  an  instant,  her 
bare  feet  hastily  thrust  into  slippers,  her  hair  like 
a  long  white  mane  hanging  down  her  back,  with  a 
dressing  gown  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  she 
started  in  pursuit.  She  followed  them  about  three 
miles  and  at  last  came  upon  them  at  the  top  of  a 
hill.  After  much  persuasion  and  after  spiking  the 
guns  (in  no  case  could  they  have  done  great  dam- 
age), the  soldiers  were  induced  to  give  them  up, 
and  departed,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  frost  and 
starlight  waiting  for  the  morning.  She  sat  bare- 
footed (for  she  had  lost  her  shoes)  but  triumphant 
on  her  small  cannon  in  the  deep  snow  till  the  day 
came  and  the  farm  people  stole  out  and  dragged 
them  all — the  old  lady  and  the  two  guns — back  to 
the  house." 

I  was  sorry  to  go — the  old  chateau,  with  its  walls 

[103] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

and  towers  soft  and  grey  in  the  sunlight,  seems  to 
belong  absolutely  to  another  century.  I  felt  as  if 
I  had  been  transported  a  hundred  years  back  and 
had  lived  a  little  of  the  simple  patriarchal  life  that 
made  such  a  beautiful  end  to  Lafayette's  long  and 
eventful  career.  The  present  owner  keeps  up  the 
traditions  of  his  grandfather.  I  was  thinking  last 
night  what  a  cosmopolitan  group  we  were.  Three 
or  four  different  nationalities,  speaking  alternately 
the  two  languages — French  and  English — ^many  of 
the  party  having  travelled  all  over  the  world  and 
all  interested  in  politics,  literature,  and  music;  in 
a  different  way,  perhaps,  but  quite  as  much  as  the 
"belles  dames  et  beaux  esprits"  of  a  hundred 
years  ago.  Everything  changes  as  time  goes  on 
(I  don't  know  if  I  would  say  that  everything  im- 
proves) ,  but  I  carried  away  the  same  impression  of 
a  warm  welcome  and  large  hospitable  life  that 
every  one  speaks  of  who  saw  La  Grange  during 
Lafayette's  life. 


[104] 


IV 

WINTER  AT  THE  CHATEAU 

WE  had  a  very  cold  winter  one  year — a  great 
deal  of  snow,  which  froze  as  it  fell  and  lay 
a  long  time  on  the  hard  ground.  We  woke  up  one 
morning  in  a  perfectly  still  white  world.  It  had 
snowed  heavily  during  the  night,  and  the  house 
was  surrounded  by  a  glistening  white  carpet  which 
stretched  away  to  the  "sapinette"  at  the  top  of  the 
lawn  without  a  speck  or  flaw.  There  was  no 
trace  of  path  or  road,  or  little  low  shrubs,  and  even 
the  branches  of  the  big  lime-trees  were  heavy  with 
snow.  It  was  a  bright,  beautiful  day — blue  sky 
and  a  not  too  pale  winter  sun.  Not  a  vehicle  of 
any  kind  had  ventured  out.  In  the  middle  of  the 
road  were  footprints  deep  in  the  snow  where  evi- 
dently the  keepers  and  some  workmen  had  passed. 
Nothing  and  no  one  had  arrived  from  outside, 
neither  postman,  butcher,  nor  baker.  The  chef 
was  in  a  wild  state;  but  I  assured  him  we  could 
get  on  with  eggs  and  game,  of  which  theire  was 
always  a  provision  for  dnb  day  at  any  rate. 

[105] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

About  eleven,  Pauline  and  I  started  out.  We 
thought  we  would  go  as  far  as  the  lodge  and  see 
what  was  going  on  on  the  highroad.  We  put  on 
thick  boots,  gaiters  and  very  short  skirts,  and  had 
imagined  we  could  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
keepers;  but,  of  course,  we  couldn't  take  their 
long  stride,  and  we  floundered  about  in  the  snow. 
In  some  places  where  it  had  drifted  we  went  in 
over  our  knees. 

There  was  nothing  visible  on  the  road — ^not  a 
creature,  absolute  stillness;  a  line  of  footprints  in 
the  middle  where  some  labourer  had  passed,  and 
the  long  stretch  of  white  fields,  broken  by  lines  of 
black  poplars  running  straight  away  to  the  forest. 

While  we  were  standing  at  the  gate  talking  to 
old  Antoine,  who  was  all  muffled  up  with  a  woollen 
comforter  tied  over  his  cap,  and  socks  over  his 
shoes,  we  saw  a  small  moving  object  in  the  dis- 
tance. As  it  came  nearer  we  made  out  it  was  the 
postman,  also  so  muffled  up  as  to  be  hardly  recog- 
nizable. He  too  had  woollen  socks  over  his  shoes, 
and  said  the  going  was  sonaething  awful,  the 
"Montague  de  MaroUes"  a  sheet  of  ice;  he  had 
fallen  twice,  in  spite  of  his  socks  and  pointed  stick. 
He  said  neither  butcher  nor  baker  would  come — 
that  no  horse  could  get  up  the  hill. 

We  sent  him  into  the  kitchen  to  thaw,  and  have 
his  breakfast.     That  was  one  also  of  the  traditions 

[106] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

of  the  chateau;  the  postman  always  breakfasted. 
On  Sundays,  when  there  was  no  second  delivery, 
he  brought  his  little  girl  and  an  accordion,  and  re- 
mained all  the  afternoon.  He  often  got  a  lift  back 
to  La  Ferte,  when  the  carriage  was  going  in  to  the 
station,  or  the  chef  to  market  in  the  donkey-cart. 
Now  many  of  the  postmen  have  bicycles. 

We  had  a  curious  feeling  of  being  quite  cut  oflF 
from  the  outside  world.  The  children,  Francis 
and  Alice,  were  having  a  fine  time  in  the  stable- 
yard,  where  the  men  had  made  them  two  snow 
figures — man  and  woman  (giants) — and  they  were 
pelting  them  with  snowballs  and  tumbling  head- 
long into  the  heaps  of  snow  on  each  side  of  the 
gate,  where  a  passage  had  been  cleared  for  the 
horses. 

We  thought  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to 
do  a  little  coasting  and  inaugurate  a  sled  we  had 
had  made  with  great  diflficulty  the  year  before.  It 
was  rather  a  long  operation.  The  wheelwright  at 
Marolles  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  kind,  had 
no  idea  what  we  wanted.  Fortunately  Francis 
had  a  little  sled  which  one  of  his  cousins  had  sent 
him  from  America;  and  with  that  as  a  model,  and 
many  explanations,  the  wheelwright  and  the  black- 
smith produced  really  a  very  creditable  sled — quite 
large,  a  seat  for  two  in  front,  and  one  behind  for 
the  person  who  steered.     Only  when  the  sled  was 

[107] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

finished  the  snow  had  disappeared !  It  rarely  lasts 
long  in  France. 

We  had  the  sled  brought  out — the  runners 
needed  a  little  repairing — and  the  next  day  made 
our  first  attempt.  There  was  not  much  danger  of 
meeting  anything.  A  sort  of  passage  had  been 
cleared,  and  gravel  sprinkled  in  the  middle  of  the 
road;  but  very  few  vehicles  had  passed,  and  the 
snow  was  as  hard  as  ice.  All  the  establishment 
"assisted"  at  the  first  trial,  and  the  stable-boy 
accompanied  us  with  the  donkey  who  was  to  pull 
the  sled  up  the  hill. 

We  had  some  little  difficulty  in  starting,  Pauline 
and  I  in  front,  Francis  behind;  but  as  soon  as  we 
got  fairly  on  the  slope  the  thing  flew.  Pauline  was 
frightened  to  death,  screaming,  and  wanted  to  get 
off;  but  I  held  her  tight,  and  we  landed  in  the 
ditch  near  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Half-way  down 
(the  hill  is  steep  but  straight,  one  sees  a  great  dis- 
tance) Francis  saw  the  diligence  arriving;  and  as 
he  was  not  quite  sure  of  his  steering-gear,  he 
thought  it  was  better  to  take  no  risks,  and  steered 
us  straight  into  the  ditch  as  hard  as  we  could  go. 
The  sled  upset;  we  all  rolled  off  into  the  deep  soft 
snow,  lost  our  hats,  and  emerged  quite  white  from 
head  to  foot. 

The  diligence  had  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
There  were  only  two  men  in  it  besides  the  driver, 

tl08] 


WINTER  AT  THE  CHATEAU 

the  old  Pere  Jacques,  who  was  dumbfounded  when 
he  recognized  Madame  Waddington.  It  seems 
they  couldn't  think  what  had  happened.  As  they 
got  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  they  saw  a  good  many 
people  at  the  gate  of  the  chateau;  then  suddenly 
something  detached  itself  from  the  group  and 
rushed  wildly  down  the  hill.  They  thought  it  was 
an  accident,  some  part  of  a  carriage  broken,  and 
before  they  had  time  to  collect  their  senses  the 
whole  thing  collapsed  in  the  ditch.  The  poor  old 
man  was  quite  disturbed — couldn't  think  we  were 
not  hurt,  and  begged  us  to  get  into  the  diligence 
and  not  trust  ourselves  again  to  such  a  dangerous 
vehicle.  However  we  reassured  him,  and  all 
walked  up  the  hill  together,  the  donkey  pulling  the 
sled,  which  was  tied  to  him  with  a  very  primitive 
arrangement  of  ropes,  the  sled  constantly  swinging 
round  and  hitting  him  on  the  legs,  which  he 
naturally  resented  and  kicked  viciously. 

We  amused  ourselves  very  much  as  long  as  the 
snow  lasted,  about  ten  days — coasted  often,  and 
made  excursions  to  the  neighbouring  villages  with 
the  sled  and  the  donkey.  We  wanted  to  skate, 
but  that  was  not  easy  to  arrange,  as  the  ponds  and 
"tourbieres"  near  us  were  very  deep,  and  I  was 
afraid  to  venture  with  the  children.  I  told  Hubert, 
the  coachman,  who  knew  the  country  well,  to  see 
what  he  could  find.     He  said  there  was  a  very 

[109] 


CHATEAU  LIFE   IN  FRANCE 

good  pond  in  the  park  of  the  chateau  of  La  Ferte, 
and  he  was  sure  the  proprietor,  an  old  man  who 
Uved  there  by  himself,  would  be  quite  pleased  to 
let  us  come  there. 

The  old  gentleman  was  most  amiable — begged 
we  would  come  as  often  as  we  liked — merely  mak- 
ing one  condition,  that  we  should  have  a  man  on 
the  bank  (the  pond  was  only  about  a  foot  deep) 
with  a  rope  in  ease  of  accidents.  .  .  .  We  went 
there  nearly  every  afternoon,  and  made  quite  a 
comfortable  "installation"  on  the  bank:  a  fire, 
rugs,  chairs  and  a  very  good  little  gouter,  the 
grocer's  daughter  bringing  us  hot  wine  and  biscuits 
from  the  town. 

It  was  a  perfect  sight  for  La  Ferte.  The  whole 
town  came  to  look  at  us,  and  the  carters  stopped 
their  teams  on  the  road  to  look  on — one  day  par- 
ticularly when  one  of  our  cousins,  Maurice  de 
Bunsen,*  was  staying  with  us.  He  skated  beauti- 
fully, doing  all  sorts  of  figures,  and  his  double 
eights  and  initials  astounded  the  simple  country 
folk.  For  some  time  after  they  spoke  of  "I'An- 
glais"  who  did  such  wonderful  things  on  the 
ice. 

They  were  bad  days  for  the  poor.  We  used  to 
meet  all  the  children  coming  back  from  school 
when  we  went  home.     The  poor  little  things  toiled 

*  To-day  British  Embassador  at  Madrid. 
[110] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

up  the  steep,  slippery  hill,  with  often  a  cold  wind 
that  must  have  gone  through  the  thin  worn-out 
jackets  and  shawls  they  had  for  all  covering,  carry- 
ing their  satchels  and  remnants  of  dinner.  Those 
that  came  from  a  distance  always  brought  their 
dinner  with  them,  generally  a  good  hunk  of  bread 
and  a  piece  of  chocolate,  the  poorer  ones  bread 
alone,  very  often  only  a  stale  hard  crust  that 
couldn't  have  been  very  nourishing.  They  were  a 
very  poor  lot  at  our  little  village,  St.  Quentin,  and 
we  did  all  we  could  in  the  way  of  warm  stockings 
and  garments;  but  the  pale,  pinched  faces  rather 
haunted  me,  and  Henrietta  and  I  thought  we 
would  try  and  arrange  with  the  school  mistress 
who  was  wife  of  one  of  the  keepers,  to  give  them  a 
hot  plate  of  soup  every  day  during  the  winter 
months.  W.,  who  knew  his  people  well,  rather 
discouraged  us — said  they  all  had  a  certain  sort 
of  pride,  notwithstanding  their  poverty,  and 
might  perhaps  be  offended  at  being  treated  like 
tramps  or  beggars;  but  we  could  try  if  we 
liked. 

We  got  a  big  kettle  at  La  Ferte,  and  the  good 
Mere  Cecile  of  the  Asile  lent  us  the  tin  bowls,  also 
telling  us  we  wouldn't  be  able  to  carry  out  our 
plan.  She  had  tried  at  the  Asile,  but  it  didn't  go; 
the  children  didn't  care  about  the  soup — ^liked  the 
bread  and  chocolate  better.     It  was  really  a  curious 

[111] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

experience.  I  am  still  astonished  when  I  think  of 
it.  The  soup  was  made  at  the  head-keeper's  cot- 
tage, standing  on  the  edge  of  the  woods. 

We  went  over  the  first  day  about  eleven  o'clock 
- — a  cold,  clear  day,  a  biting  wind  blowing  down 
the  valley.  The  children  were  all  assembled, 
waiting  impatiently  for  us  to  come.  The  soup  was 
smoking  in  a  big  pot  hung  high  over  the  fire.  We, 
of  course,  tasted  it,  borrowing  two  bowls  from  the 
children  and  asking  Madame  Labbey  to  cut  us 
two  pieces  of  bread,  the  children  all  giggling  and 
rather  shy.  The  soup  was  very  good,  and  we  were 
quite  pleased  to  think  that  the  poor  little  things 
should  have  something  warm  in  their  stomachs. 
The  first  depressing  remark  was  made  by  our  own 
coachman  on  the  way  home.  His  little  daughter 
was  living  at  the  keeper's.  I  said  to  him,  "I  did 
not  see  Celine  with  the  other  children."  "Oh,  no, 
Madame;  she  wasn't  there.  We  pay  for  the  food 
at  Labbey 's;   she  doesn't  need  charity." 

The  next  day,  equally  cold,  about  half  the  chil- 
dren came  (there  were  only  twenty-seven  in  the 
school) ;  the  third,  five  or  six,  rather  shamefaced ; 
the  fourth,  not  one;  and  at  the  end  of  the  week 
the  keeper's  wife  begged  us  to  stop  the  distribution ; 
all  the  parents  were  hurt  at  the  idea  of  their  chil- 
dren receiving  public  charity  from  Madame  Wad- 
dington.     She  had  thought  some  of  the  very  old 

[112] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

people  of  the  village  might  like  what  was  left;  but 
no  one  came  except  some  tramps  and  rough-look- 
ing men  who  had  heard  there  was  food  to  be  had, 
and  they  made  her  very  nervous  prowling  around 
the  house  when  she  was  alone,  her  husband  away 
all  day  in  the  woods. 

W.  was  amused — not  at  all  surprised — said  he 
was  quite  sure  we  shouldn't  succeed,  but  it  was 
just  as  well  to  make  our  own  experience.  We  took 
our  bowls  back  sadly  to  the  Asile,  where  the  good 
sister  shook  her  head,  saying,  "Madame  verra 
comme  c'est  difficile  de  faire  du  bien  dans  ce  pays- 
ci;  on  ne  pense  qu'a  s'amuser."  And  yet  we  saw 
the  miserable  little  crusts  of  hard  bread,  and  some 
of  the  boys  in  linen  jackets  over  their  skin,  no 
shirt,  and  looking  as  if  they  had  never  had  a  good 
square  meal  in  their  lives. 

I  had  one  other  curious  experience,  and  after 
that  I  gave  up  trying  anything  that  was  a  novelty 
or  that  they  hadn't  seen  all  their  lives.  The  French 
peasant  is  really  conservative;  and  if  left  to  him- 
self, with  no  cheap  political  papers  or  socialist 
orators  haranguing  in  the  cafes  on  the  eternal  topic 
of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  he  would  be  quite  content 
to  go  on  leading  the  life  he  and  his  fathers  have 
always  led — would  never  want  to  destroy  or  change 
anything. 

I  was  staying  one  year  with  Lady  Derby  at 
[113] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

Knowsley,  in  Christmas  week,  and  I  was  present 
one  afternoon  when  she  was  making  her  annual 
distribution  of  clothes  to  the  village  children.  I 
was  much  pleased  with  some  ulsters  and  some  red 
cloaks  she  had  for  the  girls.  They  were  so  pleased, 
too — broad  smiles  on  their  faces  when  they  were 
called  up  and  the  cloaks  put  on  their  shoulders. 
They  looked  so  warm  and  comfortable,  when  the 
little  band  trudged  home  across  the  snow.  I  had 
instantly  visions  of  my  school  children  attired  in 
these  cloaks,  climbing  our  steep  hills  in  the  dark 
winter  days. 

I  had  a  long  consultation  with  Lady  Margaret 
Cecil,  Lady  Derby's  daughter — a  perfect  saint, 
who  spent  all  her  life  helping  other  people — and 
she  gave  me  the  catalogue  of  "Price  Jones,"  a 
well-known  Welsh  shop  whose  *'specialite"  was 
all  sorts  of  clothes  for  country  people,  schools,  work- 
men's families,  etc.  I  ordered  a  large  collection  of 
red  cloaks,  ulsters,  and  flannel  shirts  at  a  very 
reasonable  price,  and  they  promised  to  send  them 
in  the  late  summer,  so  that  we  should  find  them 
when  we  went  back  to  France. 

We  found  two  large  cases  when  we  got  home, 
and  were  quite  pleased  at  all  the  nice  warm  cloaks 
we  had  in  store  for  the  winter. 

As  soon  as  the  first  real  cold  days  began,  about 
the  end  of  November,  the  women  used  to  appear 

[114] 


WINTER  AT  THE  CHATEAU 

at  the  chateau  asking  for  warm  clothes  for  the 
children.  The  first  one  to  come  was  the  wife  of 
the  "garde  de  Borny" — a  slight,  pale  woman,  the 
mother  of  nine  small  children  (several  of  them  were 
members  of  the  school  at  St.  Quentin,  who  had 
declined  our  soup,  and  I  rather  had  their  little 
pinched,  bloodless  faces  in  my  mind  when  I  first 
thought  about  it).  She  had  three  with  her — a 
baby  in  her  arms,  a  boy  and  a  girl  of  six  and 
seven,  both  bare-legged,  the  boy  in  an  old  worn-out 
jersey  pulled  over  his  chest,  the  girl  in  a  ragged 
blue  and  white  apron,  a  knitted  shawl  over  her 
head  and  shoulders.  The  baby  had  a  cloak.  I 
don't  believe  there  was  much  on  underneath,  and 
the  mother  was  literally  a  bundle  of  rags,  her  skirt 
so  patched  one  could  hardly  make  out  the  original 
colour,  and  a  wonderful  cloak  all  frayed  at  the 
ends  and  with  holes  in  every  direction.  However, 
they  were  all  clean. 

The  baby  and  the  boy  were  soon  provided  for. 
The  boy  was  much  pleased  with  his  flannel  shirt. 
Then  we  produced  the  red  cloak  for  the  girl.  The 
woman's  face  fell:  "Oh,  no,  Madame,  I  couldn't 
take  that;  my  little  girl  couldn't  wear  it."  I,  as- 
tounded: "But  you  don't  see  what  it  is — a  good, 
thick  cloak  that  will  cover  her  all  up  and  keep  her 
warm."  "Oh,  no,  Madame,  she  couldn't  wear 
that;    all  the  people  on  the  road  would  laugh  at 

[115] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

her!     Cela  ne  se  porte  pas  dans  notre  pays"  (that 
is  not  worn  in  our  country). 

I  explained  that  I  had  several,  and  that  she 
would  see  all  the  other  little  girls  with  the  same 
cloaks;  but  I  got  only  the  same  answer,  adding 
that  Madame  would  see — no  child  would  wear  such 
a  cloak.  I  was  much  disgusted — ^thought  the 
woman  was  capricious;  but  she  was  perfectly 
right;  not  a  single  mother,  and  Heaven  knows 
they  were  poor  enough,  would  take  a  red  cloak,  and 
they  all  had  to  be  transformed  into  red  flannel 
petticoats.  Every  woman  made  me  the  same 
answer:  "Every  one  on  the  road  would  laugh  at 
them." 

I  was  not  much  luckier  with  the  ulsters.  What 
I  had  ordered  for  big  girls  of  nine  and  ten  would 
just  go  on  girls  of  six  and  seven.  Either  French  » 
children  are  much  stouter  than  English,  or  they 
wear  thicker  things  underneath.  Here  again  there 
was  work  to  do — all  the  sleeves  were  much  too  long; 
my  maids  had  to  alter  and  shorten  them,  which 
they  did  with  rather  a  bad  grace. 

A  most  interesting  operation  that  very  cold  year 
was  taking  ice  out  of  the  big  pond  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  The  ice  was  several  inches  thick,  and  beauti- 
fully clear  in  the  middle  of  the  pond;  toward  the 
edges  the  reeds  and  long  grass  had  all  got  frozen 
into  it,  and  it  was  rather  difficult  to  get  the  big 

[116] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

blocks  out.  We  had  one  of  the  farm  carts  with  a 
pair  of  strong  horses,  and  three  or  four  men  with 
axes  and  a  long  pointed  stick.  It  was  so  solid  that 
we  all  stood  on  the  pond  while  the  men  were  cutting 
their  first  square  hole  in  the  middle.  It  was  funny 
to  see  the  fish  swimming  about  under  the  ice. 

The  whole  village  of  course  looked  on,  and  the 
children  were  much  excited,  and  wanted  to  come 
and  slide  on  the  ice,  but  I  got  nervous  as  the  hole 
got  bigger  and  the  ice  at  the  edges  thinner,  so  we 
all  adjourned  to  the  road  and  watched  operations 
from  there. 

There  were  plenty  of  fish  in  the  pond,  and  once 
a  year  it  was  thoroughly  drained  and  cleaned — 
the  water  drawn  off,  and  the  bottom  of  the  pond, 
which  got  choked  up  with  mud  and  weeds,  cleared 
out.  They  made  a  fine  haul  of  fish  on  those  occa- 
sions from  the  small  pools  that  were  left  on  each 
side  while  the  cleaning  was  going  on. 

Our  ice-house  was  a  godsend  to  all  the  country- 
side. Whenever  any  one  was  ill,  and  ice  was 
wanted,  they  always  came  to  the  chateau.  Our 
good  old  doctor  was  not  at  all  in  the  movement  as 
regarded  fresh  air  and  cold  water,  but  ice  he  often 
wanted.  He  was  a  rough,  kindly  old  man,  quite 
the  type  of  the  country  practitioner — a  type  that  is 
also  disappearing,  like  everything  else.  Every- 
body knew  his  cabriolet  (with  a  box  at  the  back 

[117] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

where  he  kept  his  medicine  chest  and  instruments), 
with  a  strong  brown  horse  that  trotted  all  day  and 
all  night  up  and  down  the  steep  hills  in  all  weathers. 
A  very  small  boy  was  always  with  him  to  hold  the 
horse  while  he  made  his  visits. 

Our  doctor  was  very  kind  to  the  poor,  and  never 
refused  to  go  out  at  night.  It  was  funny  to  see  him 
arrive  on  a  cold  day,  enveloped  in  so  many  cloaks 
and  woollen  comforters  that  it  took  him  some  time 
to  get  out  of  his  wraps.  He  had  a  gruff  voice,  and 
heavy  black  overhanging  eyebrows  which  frightened 
people  at  first,  but  they  soon  found  out  what  a 
kind  heart  there  was  beneath  such  a  rough  ex- 
terior, and  the  children  loved  him.  He  had  always 
a  box  of  liquorice  lozenges  in  his  waistcoat  pocket 
which  he  distributed  freely  to  the  small  ones. 

The  country  doctors  about  us  now  are  a  very 
different  type — much  younger  men,  many  foreign- 
ers. There  are  two  Russians  and  a  Greek  in  some 
of  the  small  villages  near  us.  I  believe  they  are 
very  good.  I  met  the  Greek  one  day  at  the  keep- 
er's cottage.  He  was  looking  after  the  keeper's  wife, 
who  was  very  ill.  It  seemed  funny  to  see  a  Greek, 
with  one  of  those  long  Greek  names  ending  in 
"popolo,"  in  a  poor  little  French  village  almost 
lost  in  the  woods;  but  he  made  a  very  good  im- 
pression on  me — was  very  quiet,  didn't  give  too 
much  medicine  (apothecaries'  bills  are  always  such 

[118] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

a  terror  to  the  poor),  and  spoke  kindly  to  the  wom- 
an. He  comes  still  in  a  cabriolet,  but  his  Russian 
colleague  has  an  automobile — indeed  so  have  now 
many  of  the  young  French  doctors.  I  think  there 
is  a  little  rivalry  between  the  Frenchmen  and  the 
foreigners,  but  the  latter  certainly  make  their  way. 

What  is  very  serious  now  is  the  open  warfare 
between  the  cure  and  the  school-master.  When  I 
first  married,  the  school-masters  and  mistresses 
took  their  children  to  church,  always  sat  with  them 
and  kept  them  in  order.  The  school-mistress 
sometimes  played  the  organ.  Now  they  not  only 
don't  go  to  church  themselves,  but  they  try  to 
prevent  the  children  from  going.  The  result  is 
that  half  the  children  don't  go  either  to  the  church 
or  to  the  catechism. 

I  had  a  really  annoying  instance  of  this  state  of 
things  one  year  when  we  wanted  to  make  a  Christ- 
mas tree  and  distribution  of  warm  clothes  at  Mon- 
tigny.  a  lonely  little  village  not  far  from  us.  We 
talked  it  over  with  the  cure  and  the  school-master. 
They  gave  us  the  names  and  ages  of  all  the  chil- 
dren, and  were  both  much  pleased  to  have  a  fete 
in  their  quiet  little  comer.  I  didn't  suggest  a 
service  in  the  church,  as  I  thought  that  might  per- 
haps be  a  difficulty  for  the  school-master. 

Two  days  before  the  fete  I  had  a  visit  from  the 
cure  of  Montigny,  who  looked  embarrassed  and 

[119] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

awkward;  had  evidently  something  on  his  mind, 
and  finally  blurted  out  that  he  was  very  sorry  he 
couldn't  be  present  at  the  Christmas  tree,  as  he 
was  obliged  to  go  to  Reims  that  day.  I,  much 
surprised  and  decidedly  put  out:  "You  are  going 
to  Reims  the  one  day  in  the  year  when  we  come 
and  make  a  fete  in  your  village?  It  is  most  ex- 
traordinary, and  surprises  me  extremely.  The  date 
has  been  fixed  for  weeks,  and  I  hold  very  much  to 
your  being  there." 

He  still  persisted,  looking  very  miserable  and 
uncomfortable,  and  finally  said  he  was  going  away 
on  purpose,  so  as  not  to  be  at  the  school-house. 
He  liked  the  school-master  very  much,  got  on  with 
him  perfectly;  he  was  intelligent  and  taught  the 
children  very  well ;  but  all  school-masters  who  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  Church  or  the  cure  were 
"malnotes."  The  mayor  of  Montigny  was  a 
violent  radical;  and  surely  if  he  heard  that  the 
cure  was  present  at  our  fete  in  the  school-house, 
the  school-master  would  be  dismissed  the  next 
day.  The  man  was  over  thirty,  with  wife  and 
children;  it  would  be  difficult  for  him  to  find  any 
other  employment;  and  he  himself  would  regiret 
him,  as  his  successor  might  be  much  worse  and 
fill  the  children's  heads  with  impossible  ideas. 

I  was  really  very  much  vexed,  and  told  him  I 
would  talk  it  over  with  my  son  and  see  what  we 

[120] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

could  do.  The  poor  little  cure  was  much  disap- 
pointed, but  begged  me  not  to  insist  upon  his 
presence. 

A  little  later  the  school-master  arrived,  also  very 
much  embarrassed,  saying  practically  the  same 
thing — ^that  he  liked  the  cure  very  much.  He 
never  talked  politics,  nor  interfered  in  any  way 
with  his  parishioners.  Whenever  any  one  was  ill 
or  in  trouble,  he  was  always  the  first  person  to 
come  forward  and  nurse  and  help.  But  he  saw 
him  very  little.  If  I  held  to  the  cure  being  present 
at  the  Christmas  tree,  of  course  he  could  say 
nothing ;  but  he  would  certainly  be  dismissed  the 
next  day.  He  was  married — had  nothing  but  his 
salary;   it  would  be  a  terrible  blow  to  him. 

I  was  very  much  perplexed,  particularly  as  the 
time  was  short  and  I  couldn't  get  hold  of  the  mayor. 
So  we  called  a  family  council — Henrietta  and 
Francis  were  both  at  home — and  decided  that  we 
must  let  our  fete  take  place  without  the  cure.  The 
school-master  was  very  grateful,  and  said  he  would 
take  my  letter  to  the  post-office.  I  had  to  write  to 
the  cure  to  tell  him  what  we  had  decided,  and  that 
he  might  go  to  Reims. 

One  of  our  great  amusements  in  the  winter  was 
the  hunting.  We  knew  very  well  the  two  gentle- 
men, Comtes  de  B.  and  de  L.,  who  hunted  the 
Villers-Cotterets  forest,  and  often  rode  with  them. 

.[121] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

It  was  beautiful  riding  country — stretches  of  grass 
alongside  the  hard  highroad,  where  one  could  have 
a  capital  canter,  the  only  difficulty  being  the  quan- 
tity of  broad,  low  ditches  made  for  the  water  to 
run  oflF.  Once  the  horses  knew  them  they  took 
them  quite  easily  in  their  stride,  but  they  were  a 
little  awkward  to  manage  at  first.  The  riding  was 
very  different  from  the  Roman  Campagna,  which 
was  my  only  experience.  There  was  very  little  to 
jump;  long  straight  alleys,  with  sometimes  a  big 
tree  across  the  road,  occasionally  ditches;  nothing 
like  the  very  stiff  fences  and  stone  walls  one  meets 
in  the  Campagna,  or  the  slippery  bits  of  earth 
(tufa)  where  the  horses  used  to  slide  sometimes  in 
the  most  uncomfortable  way.  One  could  gallop 
for  miles  in  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest  with  a  loose 
rein.  It  was  disagreeable  sometimes  when  we 
left  the  broad  alleys  and  took  little  paths  in  and 
out  of  the  trees.  When  the  wood  was  thick  and 
the  branches  low,  I  was  always  afraid  one  would 
knock  me  off  the  saddle  or  come  into  my  eyes. 
Some  of  the  meets  were  most  picturesque;  some- 
times in  the  heart  of  the  forest  at  a  great  carrefour, 
alleys  stretching  off  in  every  direction,  hemmed  in 
by  long  straight  lines  of  winter  trees  on  each  side, 
with  a  thick,  high  undergrowth  of  ferns,  and  a 
broad-leaved  plant  I  didn't  know,  which  remained 
green  almost  all  winter.     It  was  pretty  to  see  the 

[122] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

people  arriving  from  all  sides,  in  every  description 
of  vehicle — breaks,  dog-carts,  victorias,  farmer's 
gigs — grooms  with  led  horses,  hunting  men  in 
green  or  red  coats,  making  warm  bits  of  colour 
in  the  rather  severe  landscape.  The  pack  of 
hounds,  white  with  brown  spots,  big,  powerful 
animals,  gave  the  valets  de  chiens  plenty  to  do. 
Apparently  they  knew  all  their  names,  as  we  heard 
frequent  admonitions  to  Comtesse,  Diane  (a  very 
favourite  name  for  hunting  dogs  in  France),  La 
Grise,  etc.,  to  keep  quiet,  and  not  make  little  ex- 
cursions into  the  woods.  As  the  words  were  usu- 
ally accompanied  by  a  cut  of  the  whip,  the  dogs 
understood  quite  well,  and  remained  a  compact 
mass  on  the  side  of  the  road.  There  was  the  usual 
following  of  boys,  tramps,  and  stray  bucherons 
(woodmen),  and  when  the  day  was  fine,  and  the 
meet  not  too  far,  a  few  people  would  come  from 
the  neighbouring  villages,  or  one  or  two  carriages 
from  the  livery  stables  of  Villers-Cotterets,  filled 
with  strangers  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  show 
and  the  prospect  of  spending  an  afternoon  in  the 
forest.  A  favourite  meet  was  at  the  pretty  little 
village  of  Ivors,  standing  just  on  the  edge  of  the 
forest  not  far  from  us.  It  consisted  of  one  long 
street,  a  church,  and  a  chateau  at  one  end.  The 
chateau  had  been  a  fine  one,  but  was  fast  going  to 
ruin,  uninhabited,  paint  and  plaster  falling  oflf, 

[123] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

roof  and  walls  remaining,  and  showing  splendid 
proportions,  but  had  an  air  of  decay  and  neglect 
that  was  sad  to  see  in  such  a  fine  place.  The 
owner  never  lived  there;  had  several  other  places. 
An  agent  came  down  occasionally,  and  looked 
after  the  farm  and  woods.  There  was  a  fine  double 
court-yard  and  enormous  **communs,"  a  large  field 
only  separating  the  kitchen  garden  from  the  forest. 
A  high  wall  in  fairly  good  condition  surrounded 
the  garden  and  small  park.  On  a  hunting  morn- 
ing the  little  place  quite  waked  up,  and  it  was 
pretty  to  see  the  dogs  and  horses  grouped  under  the 
walls  of  the  old  chateau,  and  the  hunting  men  in 
their  bright  coats  moving  about  among  the  peasants 
and  carters  in  their  dark-blue  smocks. 

The  start  was  very  pretty — one  rode  straight 
into  the  forest,  the  riders  spreading  in  all  directions. 
The  field  was  never  very  large — about  thirty — I 
the  only  lady.  The  cor  de  chasse  was  a  delightful 
novelty  to  me,  and  I  soon  learned  all  the  calls — the 
debouche,  the  vue  and  the  hallali,  when  the  poor 
beast  is  at  the  last  gasp.  The  first  time  I  saw  the 
stag  taken  I  was  quite  miserable.  We  had  had  a 
splendid  gallop.  I  was  piloted  by  one  of  the  old 
stagers,  who  knew  every  inch  of  the  forest,  and 
who  promised  I  should  be  in  at  the  death,  if  I  would 
follow  him,  *'mais  il  faut  me  suivre  partout,  avez- 
vous  peur?"     As  he  was  very  stout,  and  not  par- 

[124] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

ticularly  well  mounted,  and  I  had  a  capital  Eng- 
lish mare,  I  was  quite  sure  I  could  pass  wherever 
he  could.  He  took  me  through  all  sorts  of  queer 
little  paths,  the  branches  sometimes  so  low  that  it 
didn't  seem  possible  to  get  through,  but  we  man- 
aged it.  Sometimes  we  lost  sight  of  the  hunt 
entirely,  but  he  always  guided  himself  by  the 
sound  of  the  horns,  which  one  hears  at  a  great  dis- 
tance. Once  a  stag  bounded  across  the  road  just 
in  front  of  us,  making  our  horses  shy  violently, 
but  he  said  that  was  not  the  one  we  were  after.  I 
wondered  how  he  knew,  but  didn't  ask  any  ques- 
tions. Once  or  twice  we  stopped  in  the  thick  of 
the  woods,  having  apparently  lost  ourselves  en- 
tirely, not  hearing  a  sound,  and  then  in  the  dis- 
tance there  would  be  the  faint  sound  of  the  horn, 
enough  for  him  to  distinguish  the  vue,  which  meant 
that  they  were  still  running.  Suddenly,  very  near, 
we  heard  the  great  burst  of  the  hallali — horses, 
dogs,  riders,  all  joining  in;  and  pushing  through 
the  brushwood  we  found  ourselves  on  the  edge  of 
a  big  pond,  almost  a  lake.  The  stag,  a  fine  one, 
was  swimming  about,  nearly  finished,  his  eyes 
starting  out  of  his  head,  and  his  breast  shaken  with 
great  sobs.  The  whole  pack  of  dogs  was  swimming 
after  him,  the  hunters  all  swarming  down  to  the 
edge,  sounding  their  horns,  and  the  master  of 
hounds  following  in  a  small  flatboat,  waiting  to 

[125] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

give  the  coup  de  grace  with  his  carbine  when  the 
poor  beast  should  attempt  to  get  up  the  bank.  It 
was  a  sickening  sight.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  re- 
treated (we  had  all  dismounted)  back  into  the 
woods,  much  to  the  surprise  and  disgust  of  my 
companion,  who  was  very  proud  and  pleased  at 
having  brought  me  in  at  the  death  among  the  very 
first.  Of  course,  one  gets  hardened,  and  a  stag 
at  bay  is  a  fine  sight.  In  the  forest  they  usually 
make  their  last  stand  against  a  big  tree,  and  sell 
their  lives  dearly.  The  dogs  sometimes  get  an 
ugly  blow.  I  was  really  very  glad  always  when  the 
stag  got  away.  I  had  all  the  pleasure  and  excite- 
ment of  the  hunt  without  having  my  feelings 
lacerated  at  the  end  of  the  day.  The  sound  of  the 
horns  and  the  unwonted  stir  in  the  country  had 
brought  out  all  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  little  village,  including  the  cure  and 
the  chatelaine  of  the  small  chateau  near,  soon  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene.  The  cure,  a  nice,  kindly 
faced  old  man,  with  white  hair  and  fiorid  com- 
plexion, was  much  interested  in  all  the  details  of 
the  hunt.  It  seems  the  stag  is  often  taken  in 
these  ponds,  les  etangs  de  la  ramee,  which  are  quite 
a  feature  in  the  country,  and  one  of  the  sights  of 
the  Villers-Cotterets  forest,  where  strangers  are 
always  brought.  They  are  very  picturesque;  the 
trees  slope  down  to  the  edge  of  the  ponds,  and 

[  126  ] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

when  the  bright  autumn  foliage  is  reflected  in  the 
water  the  effect  is  quite  charming. 

Mme.  de  M.,  the  chatelaine,  was  the  type  of  the 
grande  dame  Fran9aise,  fine,  clear-cut  features, 
black  eyes,  and  perfectly  white  hair,  very  well 
arranged.  She  was  no  longer  young,  but  walked 
with  a  quick,  light  step,  a  cane  in  her  hand.  She, 
too,  was  much  interested,  such  an  influx  of  people, 
horses,  dogs,  and  carriages  (for  in  some  mysterious 
way  the  various  vehicles  always  seemed  to  find 
their  way  to  the  finish).  It  was  an  event  in  the 
quiet  little  village.  She  admired  my  mare  very 
much,  which  instantly  won  my  affections.  She 
asked  us  to  come  back  with  her  to  the  chateau — it 
was  only  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk — ^to 
have  some  refreshment  after  our  long  day;  so  I 
held  up  my  skirt  as  well  as  I  could,  and  we  walked 
along  together.  The  chateau  is  not  very  large, 
standing  close  to  the  road  in  a  small  park,  really 
more  of  a  manor  house  than  a  chateau.  She  took 
us  into  the  drawing-room  just  as  stiff  and  bare 
as  all  the  others  I  had  seen,  a  polished  parquet 
floor,  straight-backed,  hard  chairs  against  the 
wall  (the  old  lady  herseff  looked  as  if  she  had  sat 
up  straight  on  a  hard  chair  all  her  life).  In  the 
middle  of  the  room  was  an  enormous  palm-tree 
going  straight  up  to  the  ceiling.  She  said  it  had 
been  there  for  years  and  always  remained  when  she 

[1271 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

went  to  Paris  in  the  spring.  She  was  a  widow, 
lived  alone  in  the  chateau  with  the  old  servants. 
Her  daughter  and  grandchildren  came  occasion- 
ally to  stay  with  her.  She  gave  us  wine  and  cake, 
and  was  most  agreeable.  I  saw  her  often  after- 
ward, both  in  the  country  and  Paris,  and  loved  to 
hear  her  talk.  She  had  remained  absolutely  an- 
cien  regime,  couldn't  understand  modern  life  and 
ways  at  all.  One  of  the  things  that  shocked  her 
beyond  words  was  to  see  her  granddaughters  and 
their  young  friends  playing  tennis  with  young  men 
in  flannels.  In  her  day  a  young  man  in  bras  de 
chemise  would  have  been  ashamed  to  appear  be- 
fore ladies  in  such  attire.  We  didn't  stay  very 
long  that  day,  as  we  were  far  from  home,  and  the 
afternoon  was  shortening  fast.  The  retraite  was 
sometimes  long  when  we  had  miles  of  hard  road 
before  us,  until  we  arrived  at  the  farm  or  village 
where  the  carriage  was  waiting.  When  we  could 
walk  our  horses  it  was  bearable,  but  sometimes 
when  they  broke  into  a  jog-trot,  which  nothing  ap- 
parently could  make  them  change,  it  was  very 
fatiguing  after  a  long  day. 

Sometimes,  when  we  had  people  staying  with  us, 
we  followed  the  hunt  in  the  carriage.  We  put  one 
of  the  keepers  of  the  Villers-Cotterets  forest  on  the 
box,  and  it  was  wonderful  how  much  we  could  see. 
The  meet  was  always  amusing,  but  when  once  the 

[128] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

hunt  had  moved  off,  and  the  last  stragglers  disap- 
peared in  the  forest,  it  didn't  seem  as  if  there  was 
any  possibility  of  catching  them;  and  sometimes 
we  would  drive  in  a  perfectly  opposite  direction, 
but  the  old  keeper  knew  all  about  the  stags  and 
their  haunts  when  they  would  break  out  and  cross 
the  road,  and  when  they  would  double  and  go 
back  into  the  woods.  We  were  waiting  one  day  in 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  at  one  of  the  carrefours, 
miles  away  apparently  from  everything,  and  an 
absolute  stillness  around  us.  Suddenly  there  came 
a  rush  and  noise  of  galloping  horses,  baying  hounds 
and  horns,  and  a  flash  of  red  and  green  coats 
dashed  by,  disappearing  in  an  instant  in  the  thick 
woods  before  we  had  time  to  realize  what  it  was. 
It  was  over  in  a  moment — seemed  an  hallucina- 
tion. We  saw  and  heard  nothing  more,  and  the 
same  intense  stillness  surrounded  us.  We  had  the 
same  sight,  the  stag  taken  in  the  water,  some  years 
later,  when  we  were  alone  at  the  chateau.  Mme. 
A.  was  dead,  and  her  husband  had  gone  to  Paris 
to  live.  We  were  sitting  in  the  gallery  one  day 
after  breakfast,  finishing  our  coffee,  and  making 
plans  for  the  day,  when  suddenly  we  saw  red  spots 
and  moving  figures  in  the  distance,  on  the  hills 
opposite,  across  the  canal.  Before  we  had  time  to 
get  glasses  and  see  what  was  happening,  the  chil- 
dren came  rushing  in  to  say  the  hunt  was  in  the 

[129] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

woods  opposite,  the  horns  sounding  the  hallali, 
and  the  stag  probably  in  the  canal.  With  the 
glasses  we  made  out  the  riders  quite  distinctly,  and 
soon  heard  faint  echoes  of  the  horn.  We  all  made 
a  rush  for  hats  and  coats,  and  started  off  to  the 
canal.  We  had  to  go  down  a  steep,  slippery  path 
which  was  always  muddy  in  all  weathers,  and 
across  a  rather  rickety  narrow  plank,  also  very 
slippery.  As  we  got  nearer,  we  heard  the  horns 
very  well,  and  the  dogs  yelping.  By  the  time  we 
got  to  the  bridge,  which  was  open  to  let  a  barge  go 
through,  everything  had  disappeared — horses,  dogs, 
followers,  and  not  a  sound  of  horn  or  hoof.  One 
solitary  horseman  only,  who  had  evidently  lost  the 
hunt  and  didn't  know  which  way  to  go.  We  lin- 
gered a  little,  much  disgusted,  but  still  hoping  we 
might  see  something,  when  suddenly  we  heard 
again  distant  sounds  of  horns  and  yelping  dogs. 
The  man  on  the  other  side  waved  his  cap  wildly, 
pointed  to  the  woods,  and  started  off  full  gallop. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  hill  slope  was  alive  with 
hunters  coming  up  from  all  sides.  We  were  nearly 
mad  with  impatience,  but  couldn't  swim  across  the 
canal,  the  bridge  was  still  open,  the  barge  lumber- 
ing through.  The  children  with  their  Fraulein  and 
some  of  the  party  crossed  a  little  lower  down  on  a 
crazy  little  plank,  which  I  certainly  shouldn't  have 
dared  attempt,  and  at  last  the  bargeman  took  pity 

[130] 


WINTER  AT  THE  CHATEAU 

on  us  and  put  us  across.  We  raced  along  the  bank 
as  fast  as  we  could,  but  the  canal  turns  a  great 
deal,  and  a  bend  prevented  our  seeing  the  stag, 
with  the  hounds  at  his  heels,  galloping  down  the 
slope  and  finally  jumping  into  the  canal,  just  where 
it  widens  out  and  makes  a  sort  of  lake  between  our 
hamlet  of  Bourneville  and  MaroUes.  It  was  a 
pretty  sight,  all  the  hunters  dismounted,  walking 
along  the  edge  of  the  water,  sounding  their  hallali, 
the  entire  population  of  Bourneville  and  MaroUes 
and  all  our  household  arriving  in  hot  haste,  and 
groups  of  led  horses  and  valets  de  chiens  in  their 
green  coats  half-way  up  the  slope.  The  stag,  a 
very  fine  one,  was  swimming  round  and  round, 
every  now  and  then  making  an  effort  to  get  up  the 
bank,  and  falling  back  heavily — ^he  was  nearly 
done,  half  his  body  sinking  in  the  water,  and  his 
great  eyes  looking  around  to  see  if  any  one  would 
help  him.  I  went  back  to  the  barge  (they  had 
stayed,  too,  to  see  the  sight),  and  the  woman,  a 
nice,  clean,  motherly  body  with  two  babies  clinging 
to  her,  was  much  excited  over  the  cruelty  of  the 
thing. 

"Madame  trouve  que  c'est  bien  de  tourmenter 
une  pauvre  bete  qui  ne  fait  de  mal  a  personne, 
pour  s'amuser?"  Madame  found  that  rather 
diflBcult  to  answer,  and  turned  the  conversa- 
tion to  her  life  on  the  barge.     The  minute  little 

[131] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

cabin  looked  clean,  with  several  pots  of  red  gera- 
niums, clean  muslin  curtains,  a  canary  bird,  and  a 
nondescript  sort  of  dog,  who,  she  told  me,  was 
very  useful,  taking  care  of  the  children  and  keeping 
them  from  falling  into  the  water  when  she  was 
obliged  to  leave  them  on  the  boat  while  she  went 
on  shore  to  get  her  provisions.  I  asked:  ''How 
does  he  keep  them  from  falling  into  the  water — 
does  he  take  hold  of  their  clothes ?"  "No,  I  leave 
them  in  the  cabin,  when  I  am  obliged  to  go  ashore, 
and  he  stands  at  the  door  and  barks  and  won't  let 
them  come  out."  While  I  was  talking  to  her  I 
heard  a  shot,  and  realised  that  the  poor  stag  had 
been  finished  at  last.  It  was  early  in  the  afternoon 
— three  o'clock,  and  I  suggested  that  the  whole 
chasse  should  adjourn  to  the  chateau  for  gouter. 
This  they  promptly  accepted,  and  started  off  to 
find  their  horses.  Then  I  had  some  misgivings  as 
to  what  I  could  give  them  for  gouter.  We  were  a 
small  party,  mostly  women  and  children.  W.  was 
away,  and  I  thought  that  probably  the  chef,  who 
was  a  sportsman  as  well  as  a  cook,  was  shooting 
(he  had  hired  a  small  chasse  not  far  from  us);  I 
had  told  him  there  was  nothing  until  dinner.  I 
had  visions  of  twenty  or  thirty  hungry  men  and  an 
ordinary  tea-table,  with  some  thin  bread  and  but- 
ter, a  pot  of  damson  jam,  and  some  sables,  so  I 
sent  off  Francis's  tutor,  the  stable-boy,  and  the 

[  132  ] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

gardener's  boy  to  the  chateau  as  fast  as  their  legs 
could  carry  them,  to  find  somebody,  anybody,  to 
prepare  us  as  much  food  as  they  could,  and  to 
sacrifice  the  dinner  at  once,  to  make  sandwiches — 
tea  and  chocolate,  of  course,  were  easily  provided. 
We  all  started  back  to  the  house  up  the  steep, 
muddy  path,  some  of  the  men  with  us  leading  their 
horses,  some  riding  round  by  Marolles  to  give 
orders  to  the  breaks  and  various  carriages  to  come 
to  the  chateau.  The  big  gates  were  open,  Hubert 
there  to  arrange  at  once  for  the  accommodation  of 
so  many  horses  and  equipages,  and  the  billiard  and 
dining-rooms,  with  great  wood-fires,  looking  most 
comfortable.  The  chasseurs  begged  not  to  come 
into  the  drawing-room,  as  they  were  covered  with 
mud,  so  they  brushed  off  what  they  could  in  the 
hall,  and  we  went  at  once  to  the  gouter.  It  was 
funny  to  see  our  quiet  dining-room  invaded  by 
such  a  crowd  of  men,  some  red-coated,  some  green, 
all  with  breeches  and  high  muddy  boots.  The 
master  of  hounds,  M.  Menier,  proposed  to  make 
the  curee  on  the  lawn  after  tea,  which  I  was  de- 
lighted to  accept.  We  had  an  English  cousin 
staying  with  us  who  knew  all  about  hunting  in  her 
own  country,  but  had  never  seen  a  French  chasse 
a  courre,  and  she  was  most  keen  about  it.  The 
gouter  was  very  creditable.  It  seems  that  they 
had  just  caught  the  chef,  who  had  been  attracted 

[133] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

by  the  unusual  sounds  and  bustle  on  the  hillside, 
and  who  had  also  come  down  to  see  the  show.  He 
promptly  grasped  the  situation,  hurried  back  to 
the  house,  and  produced  beef  and  mayonnaise 
sandwiches,  and  a  splendid  savarin  with  whipped 
cream  in  the  middle  (so  we  naturally  didn't  have 
any  dessert — but  nobody  minded),  tea,  chocolate, 
and  whiskey,  of  course.  As  soon  as  it  began  to  get 
dark  we  all  adjourned  to  the  lawn.  All  the  car- 
riages, the  big  breaks  with  four  horses,  various 
lighter  vehicles,  grooms  and  led  horses  were  massed 
at  the  top  of  the  lawn,  just  where  it  rises  slightly  to 
meet  the  woods.  A  little  lower  down  was  Hubert, 
the  huntsman  (a  cousin  of  our  coachman,  Hubert, 
who  was  very  pleased  to  do  the  honours  of  his 
stable-yard),  with  one  or  two  valets  de  chiens,  the 
pack  of  dogs,  and  a  great  whip,  which  was  very 
necessary  to  keep  the  pack  back  until  he  allowed 
them  to  spring  upon  the  carcass  of  the  stag.  He 
managed  them  beautifully.  Two  men  held  up  the 
stag — the  head  had  already  been  taken  off;  it  was 
a  fine  one,  with  broad,  high  antlers,  a  dix  cors. 
Twice  Hubert  led  his  pack  up,  all  yelping  and  their 
eyes  starting  out  of  their  heads,  and  twice  drove 
them  back,  but  the  third  time  he  let  them  spring 
on  the  carcass.  It  was  an  ugly  sight,  the  compact 
mass  of  dogs,  all  snarling  and  struggling,  noses 
down  and  tails  up.     In  a  few  minutes  nothing  was 

[134] 


H 


'\ 


Some  red-poated,  some  green,  all  \vi;h  hreefhe-i  and  high  miiddy  boots. 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

left  of  the  poor  beast  but  bones,  and  not  many  of 
them.  Violet  had  les  honneurs  du  pied  (the  hoof 
of  one  of  the  hind  legs  of  the  stag),  which  is  equiva- 
lent to  the  "brush"  one  gives  in  fox-hunting.  She 
thanked  M.  M.,  the  master  of  hounds,  very 
prettily  and  said  she  would  have  it  arranged  and 
hang  it  up  in  the  hall  of  her  English  home,  in 
remembrance  of  a  lovely  winter  afternoon,  and  her 
first  experience  of  what  still  remains  of  the  old 
French  venerie.  The  horns  sounded  again  the 
curee  and  the  depart,  and  the  whole  company 
gradually  dispersed,  making  quite  a  cortege  as  they 
moved  down  the  avenue,  horses  and  riders  disap- 
pearing in  the  gray  mist  that  was  creeping  up  from 
the  canal,  and  the  noise  of  wheels  and  hoofs  dying 
away  in  the  distance. 

We  were  pottering  about  in  our  woods  one  day, 
waiting  for  Labbez  (the  keeper)  to  come  and 
decide  about  some  trees  that  must  be  cut  down, 
when  a  most  miserable  group  emerged  from  one 
of  the  side  alleys  and  slipped  by  so  quickly  and 
quietly  that  we  couldn't  speak  to  them.  A  woman 
past  middle  age,  lame,  unclothed  really — neither 
shoes  nor  stockings,  not  even  a  chemise — two  sacks 
of  coarse  stuff,  one  tied  around  her  waist  half 
covering  her  bare  legs,  one  over  her  shoulders; 
two  children  with  her,  a  big  overgrown  girl  of  about 

[135] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

twelve,  equally  without  clothing,  an  old  black 
bodice  gaping  open  over  her  bare  skin,  held  to- 
gether by  one  button,  a  short  skirt  so  dirty  and 
torn  that  one  wondered  what  kept  it  on,  no  shoes 
nor  stockings,  black  hair  falling  straight  down  over 
her  forehead  and  eyes;  the  boy,  about  six,  in  a 
dirty  apron,  also  over  his  bare  skin.  I  was  horri- 
fied, tried  to  make  them  turn  and  speak  to  me, 
but  they  disappeared  under  the  brushwood  as 
quickly  as  they  could,  "evidently  up  to  no  good," 
said  W.  In  a  few  moments  the  keeper  appeared, 
red  and  breathless,  having  been  running  after 
poachers — a  woman  the  worst  of  the  lot.  We  de- 
scribed the  party  we  had  just  seen,  and  he  was 
wildly  excited,  wanted  to  start  again  in  pursuit, 
said  they  were  just  the  ones  he  was  looking  for. 
The  woman  belonged  to  a  band  of  poachers  and 
vagabonds  they  could  not  get  hold  of.  They  could 
trace  her  progress  sometimes  by  the  blood  on  the 
grass  where  the  thorns  and  sharp  stones  had  torn 
her  feet.  It  seems  they  were  quite  a  band,  living 
anywhere  in  the  woods,  in  old  charcoal-burners' 
huts  or  under  the  trees,  never  staying  two  nights  in 
the  same  place.  There  are  women,  and  children, 
and  babies,  who  appear  and  disappear,  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner.  Many  of  them  have  been 
condemned,  and  have  had  two  weeks  or  a  month 
of  prison.     One  family  is  employed  by  one  of  the 

[136] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

small  farmers  near,  who  lets  them  live  in  a  tumble- 
down hut  in  the  midst  of  his  woods,  and  that  is 
their  centre.  We  passed  by  there  two  or  three  days 
later,  when  we  were  riding  across  the  fields,  and 
anything  so  miserable  I  never  saw ;  the  house  half 
falling  to  pieces,  no  panes  of  glass,  dirty  rags 
stuffed  in  the  windows,  no  door  at  all,  bundles  of 
dirty  straw  inside,  a  pond  of  filthy  water  at  one 
side  of  the  house,  two  or  three  dirty  children  play- 
ing in  it,  and  inside  at  the  opening,  where  the  door 
should  have  been,  the  same  lame  woman  in  her  two 
sacks.  She  glowered  at  us,  standing  defiantly  at 
the  opening  to  prevent  our  going  in,  in  case  we 
had  any  such  intention.  I  suppose  she  had  various 
rabbits  and  hares  hung  up  inside  she  couldn't  have 
accounted  for.  There  was  no  other  habitation 
anywhere  near;  no  cart  or  vehicle  of  any  kind 
could  have  got  there.  We  followed  a  narrow  path, 
hardly  visible  in  the  long  grass,  and  the  horses 
had  to  pick  their  way — one  couldn't  imagine  a 
more  convenient  trysting-place  for  vagabonds  and 
tramps.  It  seems  incredible  that  such  things 
should  go  on  at  our  doors,  so  to  speak,  but  it  is 
very  difficult  to  get  at  them.  Our  keepers  and  M. 
de  M.,  whose  property  touches  ours,  have  had 
various  members  of  the  gang  arrested,  but  they 
always  begin  again.  The  promiscuity  of  living  is 
something  awful,  girls  and  young  men  squatting 

[137] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

and  sleeping  in  the  same  room  on  heaps  of  dirty 
rags.  There  have  been  some  arrests  for  infanticide, 
when  a  baby's  appearance  and  disappearance  was 
too  flagrant,  but  the  girls  don't  care.  They  do 
their  time  of  prison,  come  out  quite  untamed  by 
prison  discipline,  and  begin  again  their  wild,  free 
life.  One  doesn't  quite  understand  the  farmer 
who  gives  any  shelter  to  such  a  bad  lot,  but  I 
fancy  there  is  a  tacit  understanding  that  his  hares 
and  rabbits  must  be  left  unmolested. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  the  keepers  when  they 
suspect  poachers  are  in  their  woods.  When  the 
leaves  are  off  they  can  see  at  a  great  distance,  and 
with  their  keen,  trained  eyes  make  out  quite  well 
when  a  moving  object  is  a  hare,  or  a  roebuck,  or 
a  person  on  all  fours,  creeping  stealthily  along. 
They  have  powerful  glasses,  too,  which  help  them 
very  much.  They,  too,  have  their  various  tricks, 
like  the  poachers.  As  the  gun-barrel  is  seen  at  a 
great  distance  when  the  sun  strikes  it,  they  cover 
it  with  a  green  stuff  that  takes  the  general  tint  of 
the  leaves  and  the  woods,  and  post  themselves, 
half  hidden  in  the  bushes,  near  some  of  the  quar- 
ries, where  the  poachers  generally  come.  Then 
they  give  a  gun  to  an  under-strapper,  telling  him 
to  stand  in  some  prominent  part  of  the  woods,  his 
gun  well  in  sight.  That,  of  course,  the  poachers 
see  at  once,  so  they  make  straight  for  the  other 

[138] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

side,  and  often  fall  upon  the  keepers  who  are  lying 
in  wait  for  them.  As  a  general  rule,  they  don't 
make  much  resistance,  as  they  know  the  keepers 
will  shoot — not  to  kill  them,  but  a  shot  in  the 
ankle  or  leg  that  will  disable  them  for  some  time. 
I  had  rather  a  weakness  for  one  poaching  family. 
The  man  was  young,  good-looking,  and  I  don't 
really  believe  a  bad  lot,  but  he  had  been  unfortu- 
nate, had  naturally  a  high  temper,  and  couldn't 
stand  being  howled  at  and  sworn  at  when  things 
didn't  go  exactly  as  the  patron  wanted;  conse- 
quently he  never  stayed  in  any  place,  tried  to  get 
some  other  work,  but  was  only  fit  for  the  woods, 
where  he  knew  every  tree  and  root  and  the  habits 
and  haunts  of  all  the  animals.  He  had  a  pretty 
young  wife  and  two  children,  who  had  also  lived 
in  the  woods  all  their  lives,  and  could  do  nothing 
else.  The  wife  came  to  see  me  one  day  to  ask  for 
some  clothes  for  herself  and  the  children,  which  I 
gave,  of  course,  and  then  tried  mildly  to  speak  to 
her  about  her  husband,  who  spent  half  his  time  in 
prison,  and  was  so  sullen  and  scowling  when  he 
came  out  that  everybody  gave  him  a  wide  berth. 
The  poor  thing  burst  Into  a  passion  of  tears  and 
incoherent  defence  of  her  husband.  Everybody 
had  been  so  hard  with  him.  When  he  had  done 
his  best,  been  up  all  night  looking  after  the  game, 
and  then  was  rated  and  sworn  at  by  his  master 

[139] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

before  every  one  because  un  des  Parisiens  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  a  gun  when  he  had  one  in 
his  hand,  and  couldn't  shoot  a  hare  that  came  and 
sat  down  in  front  of  him,  it  was  impossible  not  to 
answer  un  peu  vivement  peut-etre,  and  it  was  hard 
to  be  discharged  at  once  without  a  chance  of 
finding  anything  else,  etc.,  and  at  last  winding  up 
with  the  admission  that  he  did  take  hares  and 
rabbits  occasionally;  but  when  there  was  nothing 
to  eat  in  the  house  and  the  children  were  crying 
with  hunger,  what  was  he  to  do  ?  Madame  would 
never  have  known  or  missed  the  rabbits,  and  after 
all,  le  Bon  Dieu  made  them  for  everybody.  I 
tried  to  persuade  W.  to  take  him  as  a  workman  in 
the  woods,  with  the  hope  of  getting  back  as  under- 
keeper,  but  he  would  not  hear  of  it,  said  the  man 
was  perfectly  unruly  and  violent-tempered,  and 
would  demoralize  all  the  rest.  They  remained 
some  time  in  the  country,  and  the  woman  came 
sometimes  to  see  me,  but  she  had  grown  hard, 
evidently  thought  I  could  have  done  something  for 
her  husband,  and  couldn't  understand  that  as 
long  as  he  went  on  snaring  game  no  one  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  him — always  repeating 
the  same  thing,  that  a  Bon  Dieu  had  made  the 
animals  pour  tout  le  monde.  Of  course  it  must 
be  an  awful  temptation  for  a  man  who  has  starving 
children  at  home,  and  who  knows  that  he  has  only 

[140] 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

to  walk  a  few  yards  in  the  woods  to  find  rabbits  in 
plenty;  and  one  can  understand  the  feeling  that 
le  Bon  Dieu  provided  food  for  all  his  children,  and 
didn't  mean  some  to  starve,  while  others  lived  on 
the  fat  of  the  land. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  accus- 
tomed to  seeing  women  work  in  the  fields  (which 
I  had  never  seen  in  America) .  In  the  cold  autumn 
days,  when  they  were  picking  the  betterave  (a  big 
beet  root)  that  is  used  to  make  sugar  in  France,  it 
made  me  quite  miserable  to  see  them.  Bending 
all  day  over  the  long  rows  of  beets,  which  required 
quite  an  effort  to  pull  out  of  the  hard  earth,  their 
hands  red  and  chapped,  sometimes  a  cold  wind 
whistling  over  the  fields  that  no  warm  garment 
could  keep  out,  and  they  never  had  any  really 
warm  garment.  We  met  an  old  woman  one  day 
quite  far  from  any  habitation,  who  was  toiling 
home,  dragging  her  feet,  in  wretched,  half-worn 
shoes,  over  the  muddy  country  roads,  who  stopped 
and  asked  us  if  we  hadn't  a  warm  petticoat  to  give 
her.  She  knew  me,  called  me  by  name,  and  said 
she  lived  in  the  little  hamlet  near  the  chateau. 
She  looked  miserably  cold  and  tired.  I  asked 
where  she  came  from,  and  what  she  had  been 
doing  all  day.  "Scaring  the  crows  in  M.  A.'s 
fields,"  was  the  answer.  "What  does  your  work 
consist  of  .^"  I  asked.     "Oh,  I  just  sit  there  and 

[141] 


CHATEAU  LIFE   IN  FRANCE 

make  a  noise — beat  the  top  of  an  old  tin  kettle 
with  sticks  and  shake  a  bit  of  red  stuff  in  the  air." 
Poor  old  woman,  she  looked  half  paralyzed  with 
cold  and  fatigue,  and  I  was  really  almost  ashamed 
to  be  seated  so  warmly  and  comfortably  in  the 
carriage,  well  wrapped  up  in  furs  and  rugs,  and 
should  have  quite  understood  if  she  had  poured 
out  a  torrent  of  abuse.  It  must  rouse  such  bitter 
and  angry  feeling  when  these  poor  creatures,  half 
frozen  and  half  starved,  see  carriages  rolling  past 
with  every  appliance  of  wealth  and  luxury.  I 
suppose  what  saves  us  is  that  they  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  their  lives,  the  long  days  of  hard  work, 
the  wretched,  sordid  homes,  the  insufficient  meals, 
the  quantities  of  children  clamouring  for  food  and 
warmth.  Their  parents  and  grandparents  have 
lived  the  same  lives,  and  anything  else  would  seem 
as  unattainable  as  the  moon,  or  some  fairy  tale. 
There  has  been  one  enormous  change  in  all  the 
little  cottages — the  petroleum  lamp.  All  have  got 
one — petroleum  is  cheap  and  gives  much  more 
light  and  heat  than  the  old-fashioned  oil  lamp. 
In  the  long  winter  afternoons,  when  one  must  have 
light  for  work  of  any  kind,  the  petroleum  lamp  is 
a  godsend.  We  often  noticed  the  difference  com- 
ing home  late.  The  smallest  hamlets  looked  quite 
cheerful  with  the  bright  lights  shining  through  the 
cracks  and  windows.     I  can't  speak  much  from 

[142] 


Peasant  women. 


WINTER  AT  THE   CHATEAU 

personal  experience  of  the  inside  of  the  cottages — 
I  was  never  much  given  to  visiting  among  the  poor. 
I  suppose  I  did  not  take  it  in  the  right  spirit,  but  I 
could  never  see  the  poetry,  the  beautiful,  patient 
lives,  the  resignation  to  their  humble  lot.  I  only 
saw  the  dirt,  and  smelt  all  the  bad  smells,  and 
heard  how  bad  most  of  the  young  ones  were  to  all 
the  poor  old  people.  "  Cela  mange  comme  quatre, 
et  cela  n'est  plus  bon  a  rien,"  I  heard  one  woman 
remark  casually  to  her  poor  old  father  sitting  hud- 
dled up  in  a  heap  near  the  fire.  I  don't  know, 
either,  whether  they  liked  to  have  us  come.  What 
suited  them  best  was  to  send  the  children  to  the 
chateau.  They  always  got  a  meal  and  a  warm 
jacket  and  petticoat. 


tt431 


^ 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

TTTE  were  very  particular  about  attending  all 
^  ^  important  ceremonies  at  La  Ferte,  as  we 
rarely  went  to  church  there  except  on  great  occa- 
sions. We  had  our  service  regularly  at  the  chateau 
every  Sunday  morning.  All  the  servants,  except 
ours,  were  Protestants,  Swiss  generally,  and  very 
respectable  they  looked — all  the  women  in  black 
dresses  and  white  caps^ — when  they  assembled  in 
M.  A.'s  library,  sitting  on  cane  chairs  near  the 
door. 

Some,  in  fact  most,  Protestants  in  France  attach 
enormous  importance  to  having  all  their  household 
Protestant.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  Protestant,  having 
tea  with  me  one  day  in  Paris  was  rather  pleased 
with  the  bread  or  little  "croissants,"  and  asked  me 
where  they  came  from.  I  said  I  didn't  know,  but 
would  ask  the  butler.  That  rather  surprised  her. 
Then  she  said,  "Your  baker  of  course  is  a  Protes- 
tant." That  I  didn't  know  either,  and,  what  was 
much  worse  in  her  eyes,  I  didn't  care.     She  was 

[  144  ] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

quite  distressed,  gave  me  the  address  of  an  excellent 
Swiss  Protestant  baker  and  begged  me  to  sever  all 
connection  with  the  Catholic  at  once.  I  asked  her 
if  she  really  thought  dangerous  papist  ideas  were 
kneaded  in  with  the  bread,  but  she  would  not 
listen  to  my  mild  "persiflage,"  and  went  away 
rather  anxious  about  my  spiritual  welfare. 

We  went  always  to  the  church  at  La  Ferte  for 
the  fete  of  St.  Cecile,  as  the  Fanfare  played  in  the 
church  on  that  day.  The  Fanfare  was  a  very  im- 
portant body.  Nearly  all  the  prominent  citizens 
of  La  Ferte,  who  had  any  idea  of  music,  were 
members — the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  coiffeur, 
etc.  The  Mayor  was  president  and  walked  at 
the  head  of  the  procession  when  they  filed  into 
the  church.  I  was  "Presidente  d'Honneur"  and 
always  wore  my  badge  pinned  conspicuously  on 
my  coat.  It  was  a  great  day  for  the  little  town. 
Weeks  before  the  fete  we  used  to  hear  all  about  it 
from  the  coiffeur  when  he  came  to  the  chateau  to 
shave  the  gentlemen.  He  played  the  big  drum 
and  thought  the  success  of  the  whole  thing 
depended  on  his  performance.  He  proposed  to 
bring  his  instrument  one  morning  and  play  his 
part  for  us.  We  were  very  careful  to  be  well 
dressed  on  that  day  and  discarded  the  short  serge 
skirts  we  generally  wore.  All  the  La  Ferte  ladies, 
particularly  the  wives  and  sisters  of  the  perform- 

[145] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

ers,  put  on  their  best  clothes,  and  their  feelings 
would  have  been  hurt  if  we  had  not  done  the  same. 

In  fact  it  was  a  little  difficult  to  dress  up  to  the 
occasion.  The  older  women  all  had  jet  and  lace 
on  their  dresses,  with  long  trailing  skirts,  and  the 
younger  ones,  even  children,  had  wonderful  hats 
with  feathers — one  or  two  long  white  ones. 

It  was  a  pretty,  animated  sight  as  we  arrived. 
All  along  the  road  we  had  met  bands  of  people 
hurrying  on  to  the  town — ^the  children  with  clean 
faces  and  pinafores,  the  men  with  white  shirts,  and 
even  the  old  grandmothers — their  shawls  on  their 
shoulders  and  their  turbans  starched  stiff — were 
hobbling  along  with  their  sticks,  anxious  to  arrive. 
We  heard  sounds  of  music  as  we  got  to  the  church 
— the  procession  was  evidently  approaching.  The 
big  doors  were  wide  open,  a  great  many  people 
already  inside.  We  looked  straight  down  the  nave 
to  the  far  end  where  the  high  altar,  all  flowers  and 
candles,  made  a  bright  spot  of  colour.  Red 
draperies  and  banners  were  hanging  from  the 
columns — vases  and  wreaths  of  flowers  at  the  foot 
of  the  statues  of  the  saints;  chairs  and  music- 
stands  in  the  chancel.  We  went  at  once  to  our 
places.  The  cure,  with  his  choir  boys  in  their 
little  short  white  soutanes,  red  petticoats  and  red 
shoes,  was  just  coming  out  of  the  sacristy  and  the 
procession  was  appearing  at  the  bottom  of  the 

[146] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

church.  First  came  the  Mayor  in  a  dress  coat  and 
white  cravat — the  "Adjoint"  and  one  of  the  mu- 
nicipal council  just  behind,  then  the  banner — rather 
a  heavy  one,  four  men  carried  it.  After  that  the 
"pompiers,"  all  in  uniform,  each  man  carrying  his 
instrument;  they  didn't  play  as  they  came  up  the 
aisle,  stopped  their  music  at  the  door;  but  when 
they  did  begin — I  don't  know  exactly  at  what 
moment  of  the  mass — it  was  something  appalling. 
The  jBrst  piece  was  a  military  march,  executed 
with  all  the  artistic  conviction  and  patriotic  ardour 
of  their  young  lungs  (they  were  mostly  young  men) . 
We  were  at  the  top  of  the  church,  very  near  the 
performers,  and  the  first  bursts  of  trumpets  and 
bugles  made  one  jump.  They  played  several 
times.  It  didn't  sound  too  badly  at  the  "Eleva- 
tion" when  they  had  chosen  rather  a  soft  (com- 
paratively) simple  melody.  The  cure  preached  a 
very  pretty,  short  sermon,  telling  them  about  Saint 
Cecile,  the  delicately  nurtured  young  Roman  who 
was  not  afraid  to  face  martyrdom  and  death  for 
the  sake  of  her  religion.  The  men  listened  most 
attentively  and  seemed  much  interested  when  he 
told  them  how  he  had  seen  in  Rome  the  church  of 
St.  Cecile  built  over  the  ruin  of  the  saint's  house — 
the  sacristy  just  over  her  bath-room.  I  asked  him 
how  he  could  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience  to  speak 
of  the  melodious   sounds   that   accompanied   the 

[147] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

prayers  of  the  faithful,  but  he  said  one  must  look 
sometimes  at  the  intention  more  than  at  the  result. 

There  was  a  certain  harmony  among  the  men 
when  they  were  practising  and  preparing  their 
music  for  the  church,  and  as  long  as  they  held  to 
coming  and  gave  up  their  evenings  to  practising, 
instead  of  spending  them  in  the  wine  shops,  we 
must  do  all  we  could  to  encourage  them. 

The  procession  went  out  in  the  same  order — 
halted  at  the  church  door  and  then  W.  made  them 
a  nice  little  speech,  saying  he  was  pleased  to  see 
how  numerous  they  were  and  how  much  improved 
— they  would  certainly  take  an  honourable  place 
in  the  concours  de  fanfares  of  the  department. 
They  escorted  the  Mayor  back  to  his  house  playing 
their  march  and  wound  up  with  a  copious  dejeuner 
at  the  "Sauvage."  Either  the  Mayor  or  the  "Ad- 
joint" always  went  to  the  banquet.  W.  gave  the 
champagne,  but  abstained  from  the  feast. 

They  really  did  improve  as  they  went  on.  They 
were  able  to  get  better  instruments  and  were 
stimulated  by  rival  fanfares  in  the  neighbourhood. 
They  were  very  anxious  to  come  and  play  at  the 
chateau,  and  we  promised  they  should  whenever 
a  fitting  occasion  should  present  itself. 

We  had  a  visit  from  the  Staals  one  year.  The 
Baron  de  Staal  was  Russian  Ambassador  in  Eng- 
land, and  we  had  been  colleagues  there  for  many 

[148] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

years.  We  asked  the  Fanfare  to  come  one  Sunday 
afternoon  while  they  were  there.  We  had  a  little 
diflSculty  over  the  Russian  National  Hymn,  which 
they,  naturally,  wanted  to  play.  The  Chef  de  Fan- 
fare came  to  see  me  one  day  and  we  looked  over  the 
music  together.  I  had  it  only  for  the  piano,  but  I 
explained  the  tempo  and  repetitions  to  him  and  he 
arranged  it  very  well  for  his  men.  They  made  quite 
an  imposing  entrance.  Half  the  population  of  La 
Ferte  escorted  them  (all  much  excited  by  the  idea 
of  seeing  the  Russian  Ambassador),  and  they  were 
reinforced  by  the  two  villages  they  passed  through. 
We  waited  for  them  in  the  gallery — doors  and  win- 
dows open.  They  played  the  spirited  French 
march  "Sambre  et  Meuse"  as  they  came  up  the 
avenue.  It  sounded  quite  fine  in  the  open  air. 
They  halted  and  saluted  quite  in  military  style  as 
soon  as  they  came  in  front  of  the  gallery — stopped 
their  march  and  began  immediately  the  Russian 
Hymn,  playing  it  very  well. 

They  were  much  applauded,  we  in  the  gallery 
giving  the  signal  and  their  friends  on  the  lawn 
joining  in  enthusiastically.  They  were  a  motley 
crowd — over  a  hundred  I  should  think — ranging 
from  the  municipal  councillor  of  La  Ferte,  in  his 
high  hat  and  black  cloth  Sunday  coat,  to  the  hump- 
backed daughter  of  the  village  carpenter  and  the 
idiot  boy  who  lived  in  a  cave  on  the  road  and 

[  149  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

frightened  the  children  out  of  their  wits  by  running 
out  and  making  faces  at  them  whenever  they 
passed.  They  played  three  or  four  times,  then 
W.  called  up  one  or  two  of  the  principal  performers 
and  presented  them  to  the  Staals.  Mme.  de  Staal 
spoke  to  them  very  prettily,  thanked  them  for 
playing  the  Russian  Hymn  and  said  she  would  like 
to  hear  the  "Sambre  et  Meuse"  again.  That,  of 
course,  delighted  them  and  they  marched  off  to  the 
strains  of  their  favourite  tune.  About  half-way 
down  the  avenue  we  heard  a  few  cries  of  '*Vive  la 
Russie,"  and  then  came  a  burst  of  cheers. 

Our  dinner  was  rather  pleasant  that  evening. 
We  had  the  Prefet,  M.  Sebline;  Senator  of  the 
Aisne,  Jusserand,  present  Ambassador  to  Wash- 
ington; Mme.  Thenard,  of  the  Comedie  Fran9aise, 
and  several  young  people.  Jusserand  is  always  a 
brilliant  talker — so  easy — no  pose  of  any  kind,  and 
Sebline  was  interesting,  telling  about  all  sorts  of 
old  customs  in  the  country. 
\y  Though  we  were  so  near  Paris,  hardly  two  hours 
by  the  express,  the  people  had  remained  extraor- 
dinarily primitive.  There  were  no  manufactur- 
ing towns  anywhere  near  us,  nothing  but  big  farms, 
forests  and  small  far-apart  villages.  The  modern 
socialist-radical  ideas  were  penetrating  very  slowly 
into  the  heads  of  the  people — they  were  quite  con- 
tent to  be  humble  tillers  of  the  soil,  as  their  fathers 

[150] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

had  been  before  them.  The  men  had  worked  all 
their  lives  on  the  farms,  the  women,  too;  begin- 
ning quite  young,  taking  care  of  cows  and  geese, 
picking  beet-root,  etc. 

What  absolutely  changed  the  men  was  the 
three  years'  military  service.  After  knocking 
about  in  garrison  towns,  living  with  a  great  many 
people  always,  having  all  sorts  of  amusements 
easily  at  hand  and  a  certain  independence,  once 
the  service  of  the  day  was  over,  they  found  the 
dull  regular  routine  of  the  farm  very  irksome.  In 
the  summer  it  was  well  enough — harvest-time  was 
gay,  every  one  in  the  fields,  but  in  the  short,  cold 
winter  days,  with  the  frozen  ground  making  all  the 
work  doubly  hard,  just  enough  food  and  no  dis- 
traction of  any  kind  but  a  pipe  in  the  kitchen  after 
supper,  the  young  men  grew  terribly  restive  and 
discontented.  Very  few  of  them  remain,  and  the 
old  traditions  of  big  farms  handed  down  from 
father  to  son  for  three  or  four  generations  are 
rapidly  disappearing.  After  dinner  we  had  music 
and  some  charming  recitations  by  Mme.  Thenard. 
Her  first  one  was  a  comic  monologue  which  always 
had  the  wildest  success  in  London, "  Je  suis  veuve," 
beginning  it  with  a  ringing  peal  of  laughter  which 
was  curiously  contagious — every  one  in  the  room 
joined  in.  I  like  her  better  in  some  of  her  serious 
things.     When  she  said  "le  bon  gite"  and  "le 

[151] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

petit  clairon,"  by  Paul  Deroulede,  in  her  beautiful 
deep  voice,  I  had  a  decided  choke  in  my  throat. 

We  often  had  music  at  the  chateau.  Many  of  our 
artist  friends  came  down — glad  to  have  two  or  three 
days  rest  in  the  quiet  old  house.  We  had  an  amus- 
ing experience  once  with  the  young  organist  from 
La  Ferte — almost  turned  his  hair  gray.  He  had 
taught  himself  entirely  and  managed  his  old  organ 
very  well.  He  had  heard  vaguely  of  Wagner  and 
we  had  always  promised  him  we  would  try  and 
play  some  of  his  music  with  two  pianos — eight 
hands.  Four  hands  are  really  not  enough  for  such 
complicated  music.  Mile.  Dubois,  premier  prix 
du  conservatoire — a  beautiful  musician — was  stay- 
ing with  us  one  year  and  we  arranged  a  concert  for 
one  evening,  asking  the  organist  to  come  to  dinner. 
V  The  poor  man  was  rather  terrified  at  dining  at  the 
chateau — had  evidently  taken  great  pains  with  his 
dress  (a  bright  pink  satin  cravat  was  rather  strik- 
ing) and  thanked  the  butler  most  gratefully  every 
time  he  handed  him  a  dish — "Je  vous  remercie 
beaucoup,  Monsieur."  We  had  our  two  grand 
pianos  and  were  going  to  play  the  overture  of  Tann- 
hauser,  one  of  the  simplest  and  most  melodious 
of  Wagner's  compositions.  The  performers  were 
Francis  and  I,  Mile.  Dubois  and  the  organist.  It 
was  a  little  difficult  to  arrange  who  he  should  play 
with.     He  was  very  nervous  at  the  idea  of  playing 

[152] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

with  Mile.  Dubois — ^rather  frightened  of  me  and  in 
absolute  terror  at  the  idea  of  playing  before  W. 
Finally  it  was  decided  that  he  and  I  should  take 
the  second  piano — he  playing  the  bass.  It  was 
really  funny  to  see  him ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
music  and  he  counted  audibly  and  breathlessly  all 
the  time,  and  I  heard  him  muttering  occasionally 
to  himself,  "Non  ce  n'est  pas  possible,"  "Non  ce 
n'est  pas  cela." 

I  must  say  that  the  Walpurgis  Night  for  a  person 
playing  at  sight  and  unaccustomed  to  Wagner's 
music  is  an  ordeal — however,  he  acquitted  himself 
extremely  well  and  we  got  through  our  performance 
triumphantly,  but  great  drops  of  perspiration  were 
on  his  forehead.  W.  was  very  nice  to  him  and 
Mile.  Dubois  quite  charming,  encouraging  him 
very  much.  Still  I  don't  think  his  evening  at  the 
chateau  was  one  of  unmixed  pleasure,  and  I  am 
sure  he  was  glad  to  have  that  overture  behind 
him. 

We  saw  our  neighbours  very  rarely;  occasionally 
some  men  came  to  breakfast.  The  sous-prefet, 
one  or  two  of  the  big  farmers  or  some  local  swells 
who  wanted  to  talk  politics  to  W.  One  frequent 
visitor  was  an  architect  from  Chateau-Thierry,  who 
had  built  W.'s  farm.  He  was  an  enormous  man, 
very  stout  and  red,  always  attired  in  shiny  black 
broadcloth.     He   was    a   very   shrewd    specimen, 

[153] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

very  well  up  in  all  that  went  on  in  the  country  and 
very  useful  to  W.  He  had  a  fine  appetite,  always 
tucking  his  napkin  carefully  under  his  chin  when 
he  sat  down  to  table.  He  talked  a  great  deal  one 
day  about  his  son,  who  had  a  good  tenor  voice  and 
had  just  got  an  engagement  at  the  Opera  Comique. 
Said  he  would  like  us  to  hear  him  sing — might  he 
bring  him  some  day  to  breakfast  ? 

He  came  back  two  or  three  weeks  later  with  the 
young  man,  who  was  a  great  improvement  upon 
his  father.  The  Paris  boulevards  and  the  coulisses 
of  the  opera  had  quite  modified  the  young  provin- 
cial. He  talked  a  good  deal  at  table,  was  naturally 
much  pleased  to  have  got  into  the  Opera  Comique. 
As  it  is  a  "theatre  subventionne"  (government 
theatre),  he  considered  himself  a  sort  of  oflScial 
functionary.  After  breakfast  he  asked  us  if  we 
would  like  to  hear  him  sing — sat  down  to  the  piano, 
accompanying  himself  very  simply  and  easily  and 
sang  extremely  well.  I  was  much  astonished  and 
Mme.  A.  was  delighted,  especially  when  he  sang 
some  old-fashioned  songs  from  the  "Dame  Blanche" 
and  the  "Domino  Noir."  The  old  father  was  en- 
chanted, a  broad  smile  on  his  face.  He  confided 
to  W.  that  he  had  hoped  his  son  would  walk  in 
his  footsteps  and  content  himself  with  a  modest 
.  position  as  architect  in  the  country,  but  after  six 
months  in  Paris  where  he  had  sent  him  to  learn  his 

[  154  ] 


A  visit  at  the  chMeau. 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

profession  his  ideas  had  completely  changed  and 
he  would  not  hear  of  vegetating  in  the  country. 

We  had,  too,  sometimes  a  doctor  from  one  of 
the  neighbouring  villages.  He  had  married  an 
Englishwoman.  They  had  a  nice  house  and  *^^ 
garden  and  he  often  had  English  boys  over  in  the 
summer  to  learn  French.  He  brought  them  occa- 
sionally to  us  for  tea  and  tennis,  begging  us  not  to 
speak  English  to  them.  But  that  was  rather  dif- 
ficult, with  the  English  terms  at  tennis — horses  and 
dogs  always  spoken  to  in  English.  One  could  not 
speak  French  to  a  fox-terrier  bred  in  Oxfordshire. 

Another  pretty,  simple  fete  was  the  Blessing  of 
the  Flag  given  by  Francis  to  the  Pompiers  of  Mon- 
tigny,  our  little  village  in  the  woods  just  above  the 
chateau.  My  husband  had  always  promised  them 
a  flag,  but  he  died  before  their  society  was  formed. 
Three  years  after  his  death,  when  we  were  living 
in  the  small  place  which  now  belongs  to  my  son,  a 
deputation  arrived  from  Montigny  one  Sunday 
afternoon  to  ask  if  Francis  would  give  the  flag  his 
father  had  promised.  This  of  course  he  was  de- 
lighted to  do.  He  knew  all  the  men  and  they  all 
knew  him — had  seen  him  since  he  was  a  baby — 
all  of  them  had  worked  in  his  father's  woods,  and 
two  or  three  of  the  older  ones  had  taken  care  of 
him  and  his  gun  when  he  first  began  to  shoot. 

[155] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

His  father  gave  him  a  gun  when  he  was  twelve 
years  old — had  it  made  at  Purdy's  in  London,  a 
reduced  model  of  his  own.  No  one  is  allowed  to 
shoot  in  France  till  he  is  sixteen  years  old  and  then 
must  have  his  "permis  de  chasse"  duly  signed  by 
the  Mayor.  So  it  was  rather  difficult  to  get  Francis 
and  his  gun  into  the  woods — once  there  they  were 
safe.  Nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  let  any 
of  the  men  carry  it.  He  walked  beside  the  keeper 
with  his  gun  over  his  shoulder  just  like  him;  they 
did  meet  two  gendarmes  one  day  and  quickly  the 
gun  was  given  to  some  one  else.  I  think  the  gen- 
darmes quite  realised  the  situation  (Labbey,  the 
keeper,  said  they  knew  all  about  it),  but  they  were 
friends  of  the  family,  W.'s  appointment,  probably, 
and  asked  no  questions. 

It  was  necessary  of  course  to  consult  the  local 
authorities  before  deciding  such  an  important  ques- 
tion as  the  presentation  of  a  flag  to  the  Pompiers. 
Francis  went  over  two  or  three  days  later  and 
interviewed  the  cure,  the  Mayor  and  the  school- 
master, found  out  where  the  flag  must  be  ordered 
in  Paris  and  decided  the  day  a  fortnight  later,  a 
Sunday,  of  course.  The  function  was  to  consist 
of  a  service  and  sermon  at  the  church  and  a 
"vin  d'honneur"  offered  by  the  Pompiers  at  the 
Mairie,  which  they  hoped  Madame  Waddington 
would  grace  by  her  presence; 

[156] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

The  flag  was  duly  ordered,  sent  direct  to  Mon- 
tigny  and  everything  was  ready  on  the  appointed 
day.  We  had  fine  weather,  a  bright,  cold  Novem- 
ber afternoon;  the  country  looked  beautiful,  all 
the  trees  red  and  yellow,  a  black  line  of  pines  in  the 
middle  of  the  woods.  The  long  straggling  village 
street,  ending  at  the  church  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
was  full  of  people;  all  the  children  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  their  mothers  dashing  after  them  when 
they  heard  the  horn  of  the  auto. 

We  were  quite  a  large  party,  as  the  house  was 
full,  and  we  brought  all  our  guests  with  us,  includ- 
ing an  American  cousin,  who  was  much  interested 
in  the  local  festivities.  The  Pompiers  were  drawn 
up  in  the  court-yard  of  the  Mairie,  their  beau- 
tiful new  flag  well  to  the  front.  Almost  all  were  in 
uniform,  and  those  who  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
get  one  wore  a  clean  white  shirt  and  the  Pompier's 
red  belt.  There  was  a  cheer  and  a  broad  smile 
on  all  their  faces  when  we  drove  up.  Francis 
got  out,  as  he  was  to  head  the  procession  with  the 
Mayor  and  the  cure.  We  went  on  to  the  church 
and  stationed  ourselves  on  the  steps  of  the  Infant 
School  to  see  the  cortege  arrive. 

It  was  quite  a  pretty  sight  as  it  wound  up  the 
hill:  first  the  banner  of  blue  silk  with  gold  cords, 
which  was  held  proudly  aloft  by  two  tall  young  fel- 
lows, then  Francis  walking  between  the  cure  and 

[157] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

the  Mayor,  the  Pompiers  immediately  behind  them, 
then  the  Municipal  Council,  the  usual  escort  of 
children  that  always  turns  out  on  such  occasions 
bringing  up  the  rear.  We  let  the  procession  pass 
into  the  church  and  then  took  our  places;  a  front 
pew  was  reserved  for  the  family,  but  Francis  and 
I  sat  on  two  arm-chairs  inside  the  chancel,  just 
behind  the  Pompiers. 

The  fine  old  church,  which  is  rather  large  for 
such  a  small  village,  was  crowded;  they  told  me 
many  people  had  come  from  the  neighbouring 
hamlets.  The  Montigny  people  had  done  their 
best  to  beautify  their  church;  there  were  a  few 
plants  and  flowers  and  some  banners  and  draperies 
— church  property,  which  always  figured  upon  any 
great  occasion.  They  told  us  with  pride  that  the 
school-master  had  arranged  the  music.  I  suppose 
the  poor  man  did  what  he  could  with  the  material 
he  had,  but  the  result  was  something  awful.  The 
chorister,  a  very  old  man,  a  hundred  I  should 
think,  played  the  harmonium,  which  was  as  old 
as  he  was.  It  groaned  and  wheezed  and  at  times 
stopped  altogether.  He  started  the  cantique  with 
a  thin  quavering  voice  which  was  then  taken  up 
by  the  school-children,  particularly  the  boys  who 
roared  with  juvenile  patriotism  and  energy  each 
time  they  repeated  the  last  line,  "pour  notre 
drapeau,  pour  notre  patrie." 

[158] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

The  sermon  was  very  good — short  and  simple. 
It  was  preached  by  the  Doyen  of  Neuilly — a  tall, 
strong,  broad-shouldered  man  who  would  have 
seemed  more  at  home  in  a  dragoon's  uniform  than 
in  the  soutane.  But  he  knew  his  business  well, 
had  a  fine  voice  and  very  good  delivery;  his  perora- 
tion and  appeal  to  the  men  to  "remember  always 
that  the  flag  was  the  symbol  of  obedience,  of  loyalty, 
of  devotion,  to  their  country  and  their  God,"  was 
really  very  fine.  I  almost  expected  to  hear  cheers.-^ 
The  French  are  very  emotional,  and  respond 
instantly  to  any  allusion  to  country  or  flag.  The 
uniform  (even  the  Pompier's)  has  an  enormous 
prestige.  Then  came  the  benediction,  the  flag 
held  high  over  the  kneeling  congregation,  and  the 
ceremony  was  ended. 

We  stopped  a  few  moments  after  the  service  to 
let  the  procession  pass  out  and  also  to  thank  the 
preacher  and  one  or  two  cures  who  had  assisted 
on  the  occasion;  they  did  not  come  to  the  "vin 
d'honneur." 

We  walked  down  to  the  Mairie,  where  the  Mayor 
and  his  Adjoint  were  waiting  for  us;  they  conducted 
us  to  a  large  room  upstairs  where  there  was  a  table 
with  champagne  bottles,  glasses  and  a  big  brioche.  '^ 
As  soon  as  we  had  taken  our  places  at  the  top  of  the 
room,  the  Pompiers  and  Municipal  Council  trouped 
in  and  Francis  made  quite  a  pretty  little  speech. 

[159] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  him  speak  in 
public;  he  did  it  very  well,  was  not  at  all  shy. 
Then  there  was  a  pause — the  Mayor  filled  a  glass  of 
champagne,  handed  it  to  me,  took  one  himself  and 
we  "trinque'd"  solemnly.  Still  there  seemed  a 
little  hitch,  no  one  else  took  any  and  there  was  an 
air  of  expectancy.  I  made  a  sign  to  the  school- 
master, who  was  also  the  Adjoint,  and  he  explained 
to  me  in  a  low  voice  that  he  thought  it  would  give 
great  pleasure  if  I  would  shake  hands  and  trinquer 
with  all  the  Pompiers.  So  I  asked  to  have  all  the 
glasses  filled  and  made  the  round,  shaking  hands 
with  every  one. 

Some  of  them  were  very  shy,  could  hardly  make 
up  their  minds  to  put  out  their  big,  rough  hands; 
some  of  the  old  ones  were  very  talkative:  "C'est 
moi  qui  suis  Jacques,  Madame,  j'ai  nettoye  le 
premier  fusil  de  M.  Francis."  Another  in  a  great 
hurry  to  get  to  me:  "C'est  moi  qui  ai  remasse  le 
premier  lievre  de  M.  Francis,"  etc.  I  remember 
the  "premier  lievre"  quite  well;  Francis  carried 
it  home  himself  and  dashed  into  his  father's 
study  swinging  the  poor  beast  by  its  long  ears,  the 
blood  dripping  from  a  hole  in  its  neck.  It  was 
difficult  to  scold,  the  child  was  so  enchanted, 
even  old  Ferdinand  did  not  grumble  but  came 
to  the  rescue  at  once  with  brushes  and  "savon 


noir." 


[160] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

The  wine  had  loosened  the  tongues  and  made 
every  one  more  at  ease.  I  asked  that  Hubert  (our 
coachman  who  had  been  in  W.'s  service  for  thirty- 
one  years)  should  be  invited  to  come  up  and  have 
a  glass  of  champagne.  He  knew  everybody,  hav- 
ing driven  W.  about  in  his  dog-cart  all  over  the 
country.  He  was  delighted  to  take  part  in  the 
fete  and  made  his  little  speech,  saying  he  had  seen 
Monsieur  Francis  when  he  was  only  a  few  hours  old, 
and  that  he  had  grown  since — which  joke  was  re- 
ceived with  great  applause. 

Then  some  of  the  young  men  went  off  with 
Francis  to  look  at  the  automobile,  a  great  novelty 
at  that  time.  We  went  out  and  talked  to  the 
women  who  were  waiting  in  the  street.  Every  one 
looked  smiling  and  pleased  to  see  us;  the  men  all 
formed  again  in  procession  and  escorted  us  to  the 
end  of  the  street,  the  whole  village  naturally  fol- 
lowing. They  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
giving  us  a  ringing  cheer  as  we  left. 

I  never  but  once  saw  the  whole  neighbourhood 
assembled — when  the  only  son  of  the  Baron  de  L. 
married.  The  Baron  and  his  wife  were  very  good 
specimens  of  provincial  noblesse.  He  was  a  tall, 
heavily-built  man,  square-shouldered,  with  the 
weather-beaten  complexion  of  a  man  who  spent  all 
his  days  riding  about  his  fields  and  woods;    a 

[161] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

pleasant,  jovial  manner,  quite  the  type  of  the  coun- 
try gentleman. 

They  lived  in  a  charming  old  Louis  XV.  chateau 
almost  in  the  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets — their  park 
touching  the  line  of  wood.  They  went  rarely  to 
Paris ;  lived  almost  all  the  year  in  the  country  and 
were  devoted  to  their  place.  One  just  saw  the 
pointed  red  roof  of  the  chateau  in  the  trees  as  one 
passed  on  the  road.  It  stood  high,  a  very  steep 
road  leading  up  to  it.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  were 
market  gardens,  which  made  a  very  curious  effect 
from  a  distance — the  long  rows  of  glass  *' cloches" 
making  huge  white  spots.  The  vegetables  always 
looked  very  tempting  as  we  passed  in  the  early 
summer.  They  were  all  "  primeurs" — ^the  gardens 
lying  in  full  sun  and  were  sent  off  to  the  Paris 
market.  Half-way  up  the  slope  was  a  pretty  little 
church  almost  hidden  in  the  trees,  and  a  tiny  village 
struggled  up  the  hill  and  along  the  road. 
/  The  bride,  dressed  in  white — a  slight  girlish 
figure — was  standing  near  her  mother-in-law  and 
had  a  pretty  smile  of  welcome  for  all  the  guests. 
It  was  rather  an  ordeal  for  her,  as  she  was  a 
stranger  in  the  country  (she  came  from  the  south 
of  France)  and  every  one  was  looking  at  the  new- 
comer. 

It  was  in  the  first  year  of  my  marriage,  my  first 
appearance   in   the   country,    and   I   was   rather 

[162] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

puzzled  about  my  dress  for  the  occasion.  We  were 
asked  to  dinner  at  seven  o'clock.  My  first  idea 
was  to  wear  full  dress — light-blue  satin  and  dia- 
monds— but  a  niece  of  Mme.  A.'s,  who  was  staying 
with  us  and  who  had  been  to  some  entertainments 
in  that  part  of  the  country,  advised  me  strongly  to 
dress  more  simply.  "They  would  not  understand 
that  sort  of  toilette  and  I  would  be  overdressed  and 
probably  uncomfortable."  So  I  compromised  with 
a  high  white  dress,  no  diamonds  and  one  string  of 
pearls. 

We  had  a  short  hour's  drive.  It  was  a  clear, 
cold  night  and  we  saw  the  chateau  from  a  great 
distance.  It  was  brilliantly  lighted.  The  lights 
twinkling  through  the  trees  looked  like  huge  fire- 
flies. As  we  drove  into  the  rather  small  court- 
yard there  was  quite  a  stir  of  carriages  arriving  and 
backing  out.  The  hall  doors  were  wide  open;  a 
flood  of  light  streaming  out  over  the  steps — Baron 
de  L.  and  his  son  at  the  door.  There  was  a  hum 
of  voices  in  the  drawing-room  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  great  many  people.  The  rooms  were  hand- 
some— plenty  of  light,  the  old  tapestry  furniture 
looked  very  well,  standing  straight  and  stiff  against 
the  wall,  and  the  number  of  people  took  away  the 
bare  unused  look  they  generally  had. 

All  the  chateaux  of  the  neighbourhood  were 
represented :    The  Comte  de  Lubersac  and  his  sis- 

[163] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

ter  had  come  over  from  their  fine  place,  Maucreux. 
He  was  a  very  handsome  young  man — a  great 
hunter  and  master  of  hounds  of  the  stag  hunting 
in  the  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets ;  his  sister.  Mile, 
de  Lubersac,  most  attractive,  with  the  face  of  a 
saint.  She  was  very  simply  dressed  in  a  high  black 
dress.  She  lived  almost  the  life  of  a  Sister  of 
Charity — agoing  about  all  day  among  the  sick  and 
poor,  but  she  had  promised  her  father,  who  was  a 
great  invalid,  almost  crippled  with  gout,  to  remain 
with  him  as  long  as  he  lived.  It  was  only  after 
his  death  that  she  took  the  vows  and  entered  one 
of  the  strictest  orders  (Carmelites)  in  France. 

There  were  also  the  chatelaines  of  Thury  en 
Valois — a  fine  chateau  and  estate,  not  very  far 
from  us  in  the  other  direction.  They  had  splendid 
gardens  and  their  fruit  and  vegetables  were  famous 
all  over  the  country.  Mme.  de  Thury  was  a 
compatriot — ^the  daughter  of  an  American  general; 
the  young  Comte  de  Melun  from  Brumetz — very 
delicate  looking,  with  a  refined  student's  face. 
His  father  was  a  great  friend  of  the  Marechal  Mac- 
Mahon  and  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Catholic 
clerical  party,  and  the  young  man  was  very 
religious.  Their  woods  touched  ours  and  once  or 
twice  when  we  were  riding  late,  we  saw  him  kneeling 
at  a  little  old  shrine,  "the  White  Lady,"  which  was 
almost  hidden  under  the  big  trees — so  little  left 

[164] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

that  the  ordinary  passer-by  would  have  seen  noth- 
ing. There  were  also  the  owners  of  Colinance — 
rather  an  ugly  square  house  standing  low,  sur- 
rounded by  a  marsh,  but  a  good  property — and 
three  or  four  men  I  did  not  know — the  bride's 
brother  and  one  or  two  of  her  relations. 

There  was  hardly  time  to  introduce  every  one, 
as  dinner  was  announced  almost  immediately.  We 
were  a  large  party,  about  twenty.  All  the  women, 
except  the  bride  and  me,  were  dressed  in  black, 
high  or  a  very  little  open — no  lace,  nor  jewels. 
Henriette  was  right.  I  would  have  looked  absurd 
if  I  had  worn  a  low  dress.  The  dinner  was  very 
good,  very  abundant  and  very  long.  The  men 
said  the  wines  were  excellent.  The  talk  was  ani- 
mated enough — it  was  principally  the  men  who 
talked.  I  didn't  think  the  women  said  much.  I 
listened  only,  as  I  was  too  new  in  the  country  to 
be  at  all  up  in  local  topics. 

After  coffee  the  men  went  off  to  smoke  and  we 
women  remained  alone  for  some  time.  I  wasn't 
sorry,  as  one  had  so  few  opportunities  of  seeing 
the  neighbours,  particularly  the  women,  who  rarely 
went  out  of  their  own  places.  One  met  the  men 
hunting,  or  in  the  train,  or  at  the  notary's. 

The  notary  is  a  most  important  person  in  all 
small  country  towns  in  France.  Everybody  con- 
sults him,  from  the  big  landowner  when  he  has 

[165] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

discussions  with  his  neighbour  over  right  of  way, 
to  the  peasant  who  buys  a  few  metres  of  land  as 
soon  as  he  has  any  surplus  funds.  We  were  con- 
stantly having  rows  with  one  of  our  neighbours 
over  a  little  strip  of  wood  that  ran  up  into  ours. 
Whenever  he  was  angry  with  us,  which  happened 
quite  often  (we  never  knew  why),  he  had  a  deep, 
ugly  ditch  made  just  across  the  road  which  we 
always  took  when  we  were  riding  around  the 
property.  The  woods  were  so  thick  and  low,  with 
plenty  of  thorns,  that  we  could  not  get  along  by 
keeping  on  one  side  and  were  obliged  to  go  back 
and  make  quite  a  long  detour.  The  notary  did 
his  best  to  buy  it  for  us,  but  the  man  would  never 
sell — ^rather  enjoyed,  I  think,  having  the  power  to 
annoy  us. 

Mme.  de  Thury  and  I  fraternised  a  little  and  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  more  of  her,  but  soon  after 
that  evening  they  had  great  trouble.  They  had  a 
great  deal  of  illness  and  lost  a  son.  I  never  saw 
Thury  till  after  both  of  them  were  dead.  The 
chateau  had  been  sold,  most  of  the  furniture  taken 
away  and  the  whole  place  had  a  deserted,  neglected 
look  that  made  one  feel  quite  miserable.  The  big 
drawing-room  was  piled  up  with  straw,  over  the 
doors  were  still  two  charming  dessus-de-porte,  the 
colours  quite  fresh — not  at  all  faded — chickens 
were  walking  about  in  another  room,  and  upstairs 

[166] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

in  a  pretty  corner  room,  with  a  lovely  view  over 
woods  and  park,  was  a  collection  of  photographs, 
engravings  (one  the  mother  of  the  late  owner),  a 
piece  of  unfinished  tapestry,  samplers,  china  vases, 
books,  papers,  two  or  three  knots  of  faded  ribbon, 
all  tossed  in  a  corner  like  a  heap  of  rubbish.  The 
things  had  evidently  been  forgotten  in  the  big 
move,  but  it  looked  melancholy. 

The  chateau  must  have  been  charming  when  it 
was  furnished  and  lived  in.  Quantities  of  rooms, 
a  long  gallery  with  small  rooms  on  one  side,  the 
"gar9onniere"  or  bachelors'  quarters,  led  directly 
into  the  church,  where  many  Thurys  are  sleeping 
their  last  sleep.  The  park  was  beautiful  and  there 
was  capital  shooting.  W.  had  often  shot  there  in 
the  old  days  when  their  shooting  parties  were 
famous. 

We  ended  our  evening  with  music,  the  bride 
playing  extremely  well.  Mme.  de  Thury  also 
sang  very  well.  She  had  learnt  in  Italy  and  sang 
in  quite  bravura  style.  The  evening  didn't  last 
very  long  after  the  men  came  in.  Everybody  was 
anxious  to  get  the  long,  cold  drive  over. 

I  enjoyed  myself  very  much.  It  was  my  first 
experience  of  a  French  country  entertainment  and 
it  was  very  different  from  what  I  had  expected. 
Not  at  all  stiff  and  a  most  cordial  welcome.  I 
thought — rather  naively  perhaps — ^that  it  was  the 

[167] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

beginning  of  many  entertainments  of  the  same 
^  kind,  but  I  never  dined  out  again  in  the  country. 
It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  we  never  asked  any  one 
•^  to  dine  either.  It  was  not  the  habit  of  the  house, 
and  I  naturally  fell  into  their  ways.  Luncheon 
was  what  people  liked  best,  so  as  not  to  be  too  late 
on  the  road  or  to  cross  the  forest  after  nightfall, 
when  the  darkness  was  sometimes  impenetrable. 
Some  of  the  chatelaines  received  once  a  week. 
On  that  day  a  handsome  and  plentiful  luncheon 
was  provided  and  people  came  from  the  neighbour- 
ing chateaux,  and  even  from  Paris,  when  the  dis- 
tance was  not  too  great  and  the  trains  suited. 

We  had  quite  an  excitement  one  day  at  the 
chateau.  Francis  was  riding  with  the  groom  one 
morning  about  the  end  of  August,  and  had  hardly 
got  out  of  the  gates,  when  he  came  racing  back  to 
tell  us  that  the  manoeuvres  were  to  take  place  very 
near  us,  small  detachments  of  troops  already  ar- 
riving; and  the  village  people  had  told  him  that 
quite  a  large  contingent,  men  and  horses,  were  to 
be  quartered  at  the  chateau.  W.  sent  him  straight 
oflP  again  to  the  mayor  of  MaroUes — our  big  village 
— to  know  if  his  information  was  correct,  and  how 
many  people  we  must  provide  for.  Francis  met 
the  mayor  on  the  road  on  his  way  to  us,  very  busy 
and  bustled  with  so  many  people  to  settle.     He  was 

[168] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

billeting  men  and  horses  in  the  little  hamlet,  and  at 
all  the  farms.  He  told  us  we  were  to  have  thirty 
men  and  horses — six  officers,  twenty-four  men; 
and  they  would  arrive  at  sundown,  in  time  to  cook 
their  dinner.  Hubert,  the  coachman,  was  quite 
bewildered  at  first  how  to  provide  for  so  many,  but 
fortunately  the  stables  and  dependencies  were  very 
large,  and  it  was  quite  extraordinary  how  quickly 
and  comfortably  everything  was  arranged.  Men 
from  the  farm  brought  in  large  bundles  of  straw, 
and  everybody  lent  a  willing  hand — they  love  sol- 
diers in  France,  and  are  always  proud  and  happy 
to  receive  them. 

About  4.30,  when  we  had  just  moved  out  to  the 
tennis  ground  for  tea,  we  saw  an  officer  with  his 
orderly  riding  up  the  avenue.  He  dismounted  as 
soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  us  sitting  on  the  lawn, 
and  introduced  himself,  said  he  was  sent  on  ahead 
to  see  about  lodging  for  himself,  his  brother-officers, 
and  his  men.  They  were  part  of  a  cavalry  regi- 
ment, chasseurs,  stationed  at  a  small  town  in  the 
neighbourhood.  He  asked  W.  if  he  might  see  the 
soldiers'  quarters,  said  they  brought  their  own 
food  and  would  cook  their  dinner;  asked  if  there 
was  a  room  in  the  chateau  where  the  sous-officiers 
could  dine,  as  they  never  eat  with  their  men.  He, 
with  W.  and  Francis,  went  off  to  inspect  the  ar- 
rangements and  give  the  necessary  orders.     We  had 

[169] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

already  seen  to  the  officers'  rooms,  but  hadn't 
thought  of  a  separate  dining-room  for  the  sous- 
officiers;  however,  it  was  easily  managed.  We  gave 
them  the  children's  dining-room,  in  the  wing  near 
the  kitchen  and  offices. 

When  W.  came  in  he  told  us  the  whole  party 
had  arrived,  and  we  started  off  to  the  communs  to 
see  what  was  going  on.  The  stable-yard,  which  is 
very  large,  with  some  fine  trees  and  outbuildings 
all  around  it,  was  filled  with  blue-coated  soldiers 
and  small  chestnut  horses — some  were  drinking  out 
of  the  troughs ;  some,  tied  to  the  trees,  and  rings  on 
the  wall,  were  being  rubbed  down — ^the  men  walk- 
ing about  with  the  officers'  valises  and  their  own 
kits,  undoing  blankets,  tin  plates,  and  cups;  and  I 
should  think  every  man  and  boy  on  our  place  and 
in  the  small  hamlet  standing  about  anxious  to  do 
something.  Our  little  fox-terriers  were  mad  with 
excitement;  even  the  donkey  seemed  to  feel  there 
was  something  diflFerent  in  the  air.  He  brayed 
noisily,  and  gave  little  vicious  kicks  occasionally 
when  some  of  the  horses  passed  too  near.  A  group 
of  officers  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the  stables 
talking  to  Hubert,  who  had  managed  very  well, 
putting  all  the  officers'  horses  into  a  second  stable, 
which  was  always  kept  for  guests,  and  the  others 
in  the  various  sheds  and  outhouses,  all  under 
cover. 

[170] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

W.  introduced  the  oflScers — a  nice-looking  lot, 
chasseurs,  in  the  light-blue  uniform,  which  is  so 
smart.  He  had  asked  permission  for  the  men  to 
dine  at  the  chateau.  They  had  their  own  meat  and 
bread,  but  our  chef  was  most  anxious  to  cook  it  for 
them,  and  make  them  another  substantial  dish; 
so  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  dine  at  six  in  the 
servants'  hall.  They  all  marched  up  in  proces- 
sion, headed  by  their  sergeants ;  the  blue  tunics  and 
red  trousers  looked  very  pretty  as  they  came  along 
the  big  avenue.  The  commandant  asked  W.  if  he 
would  go  and  say  a  few  words  to  them  when  they 
were  having  their  coffee.  They  were  very  quiet; 
one  hardly  heard  anything,  though  all  the  windows 
were  open.  W.  said  it  was  quite  interesting  to  see 
all  the  young  faces  smiling  and  listening  hard  when 
he  made  his  little  spdich.  He  asked  them  if  they 
had  had  a  good  dinner;  he  hoped  his  man  knew 
how  to  cook  for  soldiers.  They  all  nodded  and 
smiled  at  the  chef,  who  was  standing  at  the  door 
looking  very  hot  and  very  pleased.  He  had  pro- 
duced a  sweet  dish — I  don't  know  what  with,  as  he 
didn't  habitually  have  thirty  extra  people  to  dinner 
— but  I  have  always  seen  that  when  people  want 
to  do  anything  it  is  usually  accomplished. 

Our  dinner  was  very  pleasant.  We  were  ten 
at  table — W.  and  I,  Henrietta,  and  a  niece.  The 
men  talked  easily,  some  of  them  Parisians,  knowing 

[171] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

every  one.  They  knew  that  W.  had  remained  at  the 
chateau  all  during  the  Franco-German  War,  and 
were  much  interested  in  all  he  told  them  of  the 
Prussian  occupation.  Only  one  of  them  had,  as 
a  very  young  fellow,  served  in  1870.  All  the  rest 
were  too  young,  and,  like  all  young  soldiers  who 
have  not  been  through  a  war  and  seen  the  horrors 
of  it,  were  rather  anxious  to  have  their  chance,  and 
not  spend  all  the  best  years  of  their  lives  in  a  small, 
dull  garrison  town. 

We  discussed  the  plans  for  the  next  day.  They 
were  going  to  have  a  sham  fight  over  all  the  big 
fields  in  our  neighbourhood,  and  advised  us  to 
come  and  see  it.  They  said  the  best  time  would 
be  about  ten  in  the  morning,  when  they  were  to 
monter  a  I'assaut  of  a  large  farm  with  moat  and 
draw-bridge  near  Dammarie.  They  were  to  make 
a  very  early  start  (four  o'clock),  and  said  they  would 
be  very  pleased  to  have  some  hot  coffee  before 
mounting,  if  it  could  he  had  at  that  unearthly  hour. 
They  were  very  anxious  about  choosing  a  horse  out 
of  their  squadron  for  the  general,  who  was  an 
infantryman,  very  stout,  very  rheumatic,  and  a 
very  bad  rider.  The  horse  must  be  sure-footed, 
an  easy  mouth,  easy  canter,  no  tricks,  accustomed 
to  drum  and  bugle,  to  say  nothing  of  the  musket- 
shots,  etc. 

Henrietta  and  I  rather  amused  ourselves  after 
[172] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

dinner  teaching  the  commandant  and  another 
officer  halma,  which  was  just  then  at  the  height  of 
its  popularity.  We  had  brought  it  over  from 
London,  where  the  whole  society  was  mad  over  it. 
We  were  staying  in  a  country  house  one  year  where 
there  were  seven  tables  of  halma  in  the  long  gallery. 
The  gentlemen  rather  disdained  it  at  first,  but  as 
the  game  went  on  and  they  began  to  realise  that 
there  was  really  some  science  in  it,  and  that  our 
men  were  placing  themselves  very  comfortably  in 
their  little  squares,  while  theirs  were  wandering 
aimlessly  about  the  centre  of  the  board,  they 
warmed  to  their  task,  and  were  quite  vexed  when 
they  were  badly  beaten.  They  wanted  their  re- 
vanche. W.  came  in  and  gave  a  word  of  advice 
every  now  and  then.  The  others  finished  their 
billiards,  came  to  look  on,  each  one  suggesting  a 
different  move,  which,  of  course,  only  complicated 
matters,  and  they  lost  again.  Then  some  of  the 
others  tried  with  the  same  result.  I  think  we 
played  five  or  six  games.  They  were  so  much 
pleased  with  the  game  that  they  asked  us  to  write 
down  the  name  and  where  to  get  it,  and  one  of  them 
afterward  told  my  nephew,  also  a  cavalry  officer, 
that  they  introduced  it  at  their  mess  and  played 
every  night  instead  of  cards  or  dominoes.  It  was 
really  funny  to  see  how  annoyed  they  were  when 
their  scientific  combinations  failed. 

[173] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

The  next  morning  was  beautiful — a  splendid 
August  day,  not  too  hot,  little  white  clouds  scurry- 
ing over  the  bright  blue  sky,  veiling  the  sun.  We 
started  about  nine,  W.,  Francis,  and  I  riding,  the 
others  driving.  There  were  a  good  many  people 
about  in  the  fields  and  cross-roads,  a  few  farmers 
riding,  and  everybody  wildly  interested  telling  us 
which  way  to  go.  Janet,  my  American  niece,  who 
was  staying  in  the  country  in  France  for  the  first 
time,  was  horrified  to  see  women  working  in  the 
fields,  couldn't  believe  that  her  uncle  would  allow 
it  on  his  farm,  and  made  quite  an  appeal  to  him 
when  we  all  got  home,  to  put  an  end  to  such  cruel 
proceedings.  It  seems  women  never  work  in  the 
fields  in  America,  except  negresses  on  some  of  the 
Southern  plantations.  I  have  been  so  long  away 
that  I  had  forgotten  that  they  didn't,  and  I  remem- 
ber quite  well  my  horror  the  first  time  we  were  in 
Germany,  when  we  saw  a  woman  and  an  ox 
harnessed  together. 

We  separated  from  the  carriage  at  the  top  of  the 
hill,  as  we  could  get  a  nice  canter  and  shorter  road 
across  the  fields.  We  soon  came  in  sight  of  the 
farmhouse,  standing  low,  with  moat  and  draw- 
bridge, in  rather  an  isolated  position  in  the  middle 
of  the  fields,  very  few  trees  around  it.  There  was 
no  longer  any  water  in  the  moat.  It  was  merely  a 
deep,  wide,  damp  ditch  with  long,  straggling  vines 

[174] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

and  weeds  filling  it  up,  and  a  slippery,  steep  bank. 
Soldiers  were  advancing  in  all  directions,  the  small 
infantrymen  moving  along  with  a  light,  quick  step ; 
the  cavalry  apparently  had  been  on  the  ground 
some  time,  as  they  were  all  dismounted  and  their 
horses  picketed.  We  didn't  go  very  near,  as  W. 
wasn't  quite  sure  how  the  horses  would  stand  the 
bugle  and  firing.  They  were  already  pulling  hard, 
and  getting  a  little  nervous.  It  was  pretty  to  see 
the  soldiers  all  mount  when  the  bugle  rang  out,  and 
in  a  moment  the  whole  body  was  in  motion.  The 
rush  of  the  soldiers  over  the  wide  plains  and  the 
drawbridge  looked  irresistible — ^the  men  swarmed 
down  the  bank  and  over  the  ditch — one  saw  a  con- 
fused mass  of  red  trousers  and  kepis.  The  cavalry 
came  along  very  leisurely,  guarding  the  rear.  I 
looked  for  the  general.  He  was  standing  with  some 
of  his  staff  on  a  small  hill  directing  operations. 
He  did  look  stout  and  very  red  and  warm;  however, 
it  was  the  last  day,  so  his  troubles  were  over  for  the 
present. 

One  of  the  oflScers  saw  us  and  came  up  to  pay 
his  respects;  said  they  wouldn't  be  back  at  the 
chateau  until  about  five;  perhaps  the  ladies  would 
come  to  the  stable-yard  and  see  thepansage.  It 
was  quite  interesting;  all  the  horses  ranged  in  a 
semi-circle,  men  scrubbing  and  combing  hard,  the 
sous-oflSciers  superintending,  the  oflScers  standing 

[175] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

about  smoking  and  seeing  that  everything  was  being 
packed  and  ready  for  an  early  start  the  next  morn- 
ing. I  was  astonished  to  see  how  small  the  horses 
were.  My  English  horse,  also  a  chestnut,  was  not 
particularly  big,  but  he  looked  a  giant  among  the 
others.  They  admired  him  very  much,  and  one  of 
the  officers  asked  Hubert  if  he  thought  I  would  like 
to  sell  him. 

Our  dinner  was  again  very  pleasant,  and  we 
had  more  halma  in  the  evening.  W.  played  once 
or  twice,  and  as  he  was  a  fairly  good  player,  the 
adversaries  had  no  chance.  We  broke  up  early, 
as  they  were  to  start  again  at  some  unearthly  hour 
the  next  morning.  It  seems  they  were  very  lively 
in  the  stables  after  dinner — we  heard  sounds  of 
merriment,  singing,  and  choruses,  and,  I  fancy, 
dancing.  However,  it  made  quite  a  pleasant 
break  in  our  summer,  and  the  big  place  seemed 
quieter  and  lonelier  than  ever  after  such  unusual 
animation.  W.  said  the  war  talk  was  much  keener 
than  the  first  day  when  they  were  smoking  in  the 
gallery;  all  the  young  ones  so  eager  to  earn  their 
stripes,  and  so  confident  that  the  army  had  profited 
by  its  bitter  experience  during  the  Franco-German 
War. 

Election  day  is  always  a  very  important  day  in 
France.     The  village  farmers  and  labourers  put 

[176] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

on  their  best  clothes — usually  a  black  coat,  silk 
hat  and  white  shirt — and  take  themselves  solemn- 
ly to  the  Mairie  where  the  voting  takes  place. 
For  weeks  beforehand  agents  and  lecturers  come 
from  Paris  and  bamboozle  the  simple  village  peo- 
ple with  newspapers,  money  and  wonderful  prom- 
ises. It  is  astounding  how  easily  the  French  peas- 
ant believes  all  that  the  political  agents  tell  him 
and  all  that  he  reads  in  the  cheap  papers,  for,  as  a 
rule — ^taken  en  masse — ^they  are  very  intelligent  and 
at  the  same  time  suspicious  (mefiants),  manage 
their  own  little  affairs  very  well  and  are  rarely 
taken  in;  but  there  is  something  in  the  popular 
orator  that  carries  them  away  and  they  really  be- 
lieve that  a  golden  epoch  is  coming — when  there 
will  be  no  rich  and  no  poor  and  plenty  and  equal- 
ity for  all.  They  don't  care  a  bit  what  form  of 
government  they  live  under  as  long  as  their  crops 
are  good,  and  they  can  have  regular  work  and  no 
war.  The  political  agitators  understand  that  very 
well.  They  never  lay  any  stress  on  Royalist  or 
Bonapartist,  or  even  a  military  candidate.  The 
"People's  Candidate"  is  always  their  cry — one  of 
themselves  who  understands  them  and  will  give 
them  all  they  want.  They  are  disappointed 
always.  The  ministers  and  deputies  change,  but 
their  lives  don't,  and  run  on  in  the  same  groove; 

but  they  are  just  as  sanguine  each  time  there  is  an 

[177] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

election,  convinced  that,  at  last,  the  promised  days 
of  high  pay  and  little  work  are  coming. 

I  tried  to  reason  with  a  nice,  respectable  man 
one  day,  the  village  mason — one  of  the  most  fiery 
orators  at  the  cafe,  over  his  dominoes,  but  in  every- 
day life  a  sober,  hardworking  man,  with  a  sickly 
wife  and  several  children,  who  are  all  clothed  and 
generally  looked  after  by  us.  His  favourite  theme 
was  the  owners  of  chateaux  and  big  houses  who 
lived  in  luxury  and  thought  nothing  of  the  poor. 

I  said  to  him,  "Why  do  you  listen  to  all  those 
foolish  speeches  that  are  made  in  the  cafes  ?  You 
know  it  isn't  true  half  they  say.  Whenever  you 
come  and  ask  for  anything  for  your  wife  and  your 
children,  it  is  always  given  to  you.  You  know 
quite  well  whenever  any  one  is  ill  in  the  village, 
they  always  come  here  for  wine,  old  linen,  or 
bouillon." 

"Oh,  oui,  Madame  is  good,  but  Madame  does 
not  understand." 

"But  it  is  you,  mon  ami,  who  don't  understand. 
Once  the  election  is  over,  and  they  have  got  your 
vote,  no  one  will  think  about  you  any  more." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Madame,  everything  will  be  divided — 
there  will  be  no  more  big  houses,  every  one  will 
have  a  garden  and  rabbits — not  all  for  the  rich.  It 
is  not  right;  Madame  knows  it  is  not  right."  It 
was  quite  useless  talking  to  him. 

[178] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

Women  in  France  never  take  the  active  part  in  ^ 
elections  that  they  do  in  England.  It  interested 
me  so  much  when  we  were  living  in  England  to  see 
many  of  the  great  ladies  doing  all  they  could  for 
their  candidate,  driving  all  over  the  country,  with 
his  colours  on  servants  and  horses,  a  big  bill  in  the 
windows  of  their  carriages  with  "Vote  for  A."  on 
it.  In  the  drawing-room  windows  of  a  well- 
known  society  leader  there  were  two  large  bills — 
"Vote  for  A."  I  asked  W.  one  day,  when  he 
was  standing  for  the  Senate,  if  he  would  like  me  to 
drive  all  about  the  country  with  his  colours  and 
"Vote  for  Waddington"  on  placards  in  the 
windows  of  the  carriage;  but  he  utterly  declined 
any  such  intervention  on  my  part,  thought  a  few 
breakfasts  at  the  chateau  and  a  quiet  talk  over 
coflfee  and  cigars  would  be  more  to  the  purpose. 
He  never  took  much  trouble  over  his  elections  the 
last  years — meetings  and  speeches  in  all  the  small 
towns  and  "banquets  de  pompiers"  were  things  of 
the  past.  He  said  the  people  had  seen  him  "a 
I'oeuvre"  and  that  no  speeches  would  change  a 
vote. 

The  only  year  that  we  gave  ourselves  any  trouble 
was  during  the  Boulanger  craze.     W.  went  about  ^ 
a  great  deal  and  I  often  went  with  him.     The 
weather  was  beautiful  and  we  rode  all  over  the 
country.     We    were    astounded    at    the    progress 

[179] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

"  Boulangism "  had  made  in  our  quiet  villages. 
Wherever  we  went — in  the  cafes,  in  the  auberges, 
in  the  grocer's  shop — there  was  a  picture  of  Bou- 
langer  prancing  on  his  black  horse. 

We  stopped  one  day  at  a  miserable  little  cottage, 
not  far  from  our  place,  where  a  workman  had  had 
a  horrible  accident — been  caught  in  the  machine 
of  one  of  the  sugar  mills.  Almost  all  the  men  in 
the  village  worked  in  W.'s  woods  and  had  always 
voted — as  one  man — for  him  or  his  friends.  Wlien 
we  went  into  the  poor  little  dark  room,  with  liter- 
ally nothing  in  it  but  the  bed,  a  table,  and  some 
chairs,  the  first  thing  we  saw  was  the  well-known 
picture  of  Boulanger,  on  the  mantelpiece.  We 
talked  a  little  to  the  man  and  his  wife  (the  poor 
fellow  was  suffering  terribly),  and  then  W.  said, 
"  I  am  surprised  to  see  that  picture.  Do  you  know 
General  Boulanger.?  Have  you  ever  seen  him.?" 
The  man's  face  quite  lighted  up  as  he  looked  at 
the  picture,  and  he  answered:  "Non,  Monsieur, 
je  ne  I'ai  jamais  vu — mais  il  est  crane  celui-la," 
and  that  was  all  that  he  could  ever  get  out  of  him — 
"il  est  crane."  I  don't  know  exactly  what  he 
meant.  I  don't  think  he  knew  himself,  but  he 
was  quite  excited  when  he  spoke  of  the  hero. 

Boulanger's  campaign  was  very  cleverly  done. 
His  agents  distributed  papers,  pictures  and  money 
most  liberally.     One  of  the  curious  features  of  that 

[180] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

episode  was  the  quantity  of  money  that  was  given. 
Gold  flowed  freely  in  to  the  General's  coffers  from 
all  parts  of  France;  great  names,  grandes  dames, 
giving  largely  and  openly  to  the  cause — a  great 
deal  sent  anonymously  and  a  great  deal  in  very 
small  sums. 

Boulanger  lived  in  our  street,  and  I  was  as- 
tounded one  day  when  I  met  him  (I  did  not  know 
him)  riding — always  with  a  man  on  each  side  of 
him.  Almost  every  one  took  off  his  hat  to  him, 
and  there  were  a  few  faint  cries  of  *'Vive  Boulan- 
ger," proceeding  chiefly  from  the  painters  and  ma- 
sons who  were  building  a  house  just  opposite  ours. 

Certainly  for  a  short  time  he  had  the  game  in 
his  hands — could,  I  think,  have  carried  the 
country,  but  when  the  moment  to  act  arrived,  his 
nerve  failed  him.  It  is  diflBcult  to  understand 
what  made  his  great  popularity.  Politics  had  not 
been  satisfactory.  The  President — Grevy — had 
resigned  under  unfortunate  circumstances.  There 
had  been  a  succession  of  weak  and  ineifficient 
cabinets,  and  there  was  a  vague  feeling  of  unrest 
in  the  country.  Boulanger  seemed  to  promise 
something  better.  He  was  a  soldier  (which  always 
appeals  to  the  French),  young  and  dashing,  sur- 
rounded by  clever  unscrupulous  people  of  all 
classes.  Almost  all  the  young  element  of  both 
parties.    Radical   and    Conservative    (few   of   the 

[181] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

moderate  Republicans),  had  rallied  to  his  pro- 
gramme— "Revision  et  Dissolution."  His  friends 
were  much  too  intelligent  to  let  him  issue  a  long 
"manifesto"  (circular),  promising  all  sorts  of 
reforms  and  changes  he  never  could  have  carried 
out,  while  his  two  catch  words  gave  hopes  to 
everybody.  A  revision  of  the  constitution  might 
mean  a  monarchy,  empire,  or  military  dictator- 
ship. Each  party  thought  its  turn  had  come,  and 
dissolving  the  chambers  would  of  course  bring  a 
new  one,  where  again  each  party  hoped  to  have 
the  majority. 

The  Paris  election  by  an  overwhelming  majority 
was  his  great  triumph.  The  Government  did  all 
they  could  to  prevent  it,  but  nothing  could  stop 
the  wave  of  popularity.  The  night  of  the  election 
Boulanger  and  his  Etat-major  were  assembled  at 
Durand's,  the  well-known  cafe  on  the  corner  of 
the  Boulevard  and  the  rue  Royale.  As  the  evening 
went  on  and  the  returns  came  in — far  exceeding 
anything  they  had  hoped  for — there  was  but  one 
thought  in  every  one's  mind — "A  TElysee."  Hun- 
dreds of  people  were  waiting  outside  and  he  would 
have  been  carried  in  triumph  to  the  Palace.  He 
could  not  make  up  his  mind.  At  midnight  he  still 
wavered.  His  great  friend,  the  poet  Deroulede, 
then  took  out  his  watch — waited,  in  perfect  silence, 
until  it  was  five  minutes  past  twelve,  and  then  said, 

[  182  ] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

"  General,  depuis  cinq  minutes  votre  aureole  baisse." 
Boulanger  went  out  by  a  side  door,  leaving  his 
friends — disappointed  and  furious — to  announce  to 
the  waiting  crowd  that  the  General  had  gone  home. 
He  could  certainly  have  got  to  the  Elysee  that 
night.  How  long  he  would  have  stayed,  and  whom 
he  would  have  put  there,  we  shall  never  know. 

MAREiriL,  October  31st. 
It  has  been  a  beautiful,  warm,  bright  autumn 
day  and,  for  a  wonder,  we  have  had  no  frost  yet, 
not  even  a  white  one,  so  that  the  garden  is  still  full 
of  flowers,  and  all  day  the  village  children  have 
been  coming — begging  for  some  to  decorate  the 
graves  for  to-morrow.  I  went  in  to  the  church- 
yard this  afternoon,  which  was  filled  with  women 
and  children — looking  after  their  dead.  It  is  not 
very  pretty — our  little  churchyard — part  of  a  field 
enclosed  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  not  many  trees,  a 
few  tall  poplars  and  a  laurel  hedge — but  there  is  a 
fine  open  view  over  the  great  fields  and  woods — al- 
ways the  dark  blue  line  of  the  forest  in  the  distance. 
They  are  mostly  humble  graves — ^small  farmers  and 
peasants — but  I  fancy  they  must  sleep  very  peace- 
fully in  the  fields  they  have  worked  in  all  their  lives 
— ^full  of  poppies  and  cornflowers  in  summer  and 
a  soft  gold  brown  in  the  autumn,  when  the  last 
crops  are  cut  and  the  hares  run  wild  over  the  hills. 

[183] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

I  think  these  two  days — the  '*Toussaint"  and 
the  "Jour  des  Morts" — are  the  two  I  like  best  in 
the  Catholic  Church,  and  certainly  they  are  the 
only  ones,  in  our  part  of  the  world,  when  the 
churches  are  full.  I  walked  about  some  little 
time  looking  at  all  the  preparations.  Every  grave 
had  some  flowers  (sometimes  only  a  faded  bunch 
of  the  last  field  flowers)  except  one,  where  there 
were  no  flowers,  but  a  little  border  of  moss  all 
around  and  a  slip  of  pasteboard  on  a  stick  stuck 
into  the  ground  with  "a  ma  Mere"  written  on  it. 
All  the  graves  are  very  simple,  generally  a  plain 
white  cross  with  headstone  and  name.  One  or 
two  of  the  rich  farmers  had  something  rather  more 
important — a  slab  of  marble,  or  a  broken  column 
when  it  was  a  child's  grave,  and  were  more  am- 
bitious in  the  way  of  flowers  and  green  plants,  but 
no  show  of  any  kind — none  of  the  terrible  bead 
wreaths  one  sees  in  large  cities. 

There  was  a  poor  old  woman,  nearly  bent  double, 
leaning  on  a  stick,  standing  at  one  of  the  very 
modest  graves;  a  child  about  six  years  old  with 
her,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  a  broken  cup  she 
was  trying  to  arrange  at  the  foot  of  the  grave.  I 
suppose  my  face  was  expressive,  for  the  old  woman 
answered  my  unspoken  thought.  "Ah,  yes,  Ma- 
dame, it  is  I  who  ought  to  be  lying  there  instead 
.of  my  children.     All  gone  before  me  except  this 

[184] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

one  grandchild,  and  I  a  helpless,  useless  burden 
upon  the  charity  of  the  parish." 

On  my  way  home  I  met  all  the  village  children 
carrying  flowers.  We  had  given  our  best  chrysan- 
themums for  the  "pain  benit,"  which  we  offer  to- 
morrow to  the  church.  Three  or  four  times  a 
year,  at  the  great  fetes,  the  most  important  families 
of  the  village  offer  the  "  pain  benit,"  which  is  then  a 
brioche.  We  gave  our  boulanger  "carte  blanche," 
and  he  evidently  was  very  proud  of  his  performance, 
as  he  ofiFered  to  bring  it  to  us  before  it  was  sent  to 
the  church,  but  we  told  him  we  would  see  it  there. 
I  am  writing  late.  We  have  all  come  up  stairs.  It 
is  so  mild  that  my  window  is  open;  there  is  not  a 
sound  except  the  sighing  of  the  wind  in  the  pines 
and  the  church  bells  that  are  ringing  for  the  vigil 
of  All  Saints.  Besides  our  own  bells,  we  hear 
others,  faintly,  in  the  distance,  from  the  little  village 
of  Neufchelles,  about  two  miles  off.  It  is  a  bad 
sign  when  we  hear  Neufchelles  too  well.  Means 
rain.  I  should  be  so  sorry  if  it  rained  to-morrow, 
just  as  all  the  fresh  flowers  have  been  put  on  the 
graves. 

November  2nd.    "  Jour  des  Morts." 

We  had  a  beautiful  day  yesterday  and  a  nice 
service  in  our  little  church.  Our  "pain  benit"  was 
a  thing  of  beauty  and  quite  distracted  the  school 
children.     It  was  a  most  imposing  edifice — two 

[185] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

large,  round  brioches,  four  smaller  ones  on  top,  they 
went  up  in  a  pyramid.  The  four  small  ones  go  to 
the  notabilities  of  the  village — the  cure,  two  of  the 
principal  farmers  and  the  miller;  the  whole  thing 
very  well  arranged,  with  red  and  white  flowers  and 
lighted  tapers.  It  was  carried  by  two  "enfants  de 
choeur,"  preceded  by  the  beadle  with  his  cocked 
hat  and  staff  and  followed  by  two  small  girls  with 
lighted  tapers.  The  "enfants  de  chceur"  were  not 
in  their  festal  attire  of  red  soutanes  and  red  shoes 
— only  in  plain  black.  Since  the  inventories  ordered 
by  the  government  in  all  the  churches,  most  of 
the  people  have  taken  away  their  gifts  in  the  way 
of  vestments,  soutanes,  vases,  etc.,  and  the  red 
soutanes,  shoes  and  caps,  with  a  handsome  white 
satin  embroidered  vestment  that  C.  gave  the  church 
when  she  was  married,  are  carefully  folded  and 
put  away  in  a  safe  place  out  of  the  church  until 
better  times  should  come. 

After  luncheon  we  went  over  to  Soissons  in  the 
auto — ^the  most  enchanting  drive  through  the 
forest  of  Villers-Cotterets — the  poplar  trees  a  line 
of  gold  and  all  the  others  taking  the  most  lovely 
colours  of  red  and  brown.  Soissons  is  a  fine  old 
cathedral  town  with  broad  squares,  planted  with 
stiff  trees  like  all  the  provincial  towns  in  France; 
many  large  old-fashioned  hotels,  entre  cour  et 
jardin,  and  a  number  of  convents  and  abbeys,  now 

[186] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

turned  into  schools,  barracks,  government  offices 
of  all  kinds,  but  the  fine  proportions  and  beautiful 
lines  are  always  there. 

The  city  has  seen  many  changes  since  its  first 
notoriety  as  the  capital  of  the  France  of  Clovis,  and 
one  feels  how  much  has  happened  in  the  quiet 
deserted  streets  of  the  old  town,  where  almost  every 
corner  is  picturesque.  The  fine  ruins  of  St.  Jean 
des  Vignes  faced  us  as  we  drove  along  the  broad 
boulevard.  A  fa9ade  and  two  beautiful  towers 
with  a  cloister  is  all  that  remains  of  a  fine  old  abbey 
begun  in  1076.  It  is  now  an  arsenal.  One  can 
not  always  get  in,  but  the  porter  made  no  difficulty 
for  us,  and  we  wandered  about  in  the  courtyard 
and  cloister.  The  towers  looked  beautifully  grey 
and  soft  against  the  bright  blue  sky,  and  the  view 
over  Soissons,  with  all  its  churches  and  old  houses, 
was  charming.  It  seems  that  Thomas  a  Becket, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  lived  at  the  Abbey  when 
he  was  exiled  from  England  and  had  taken  refuge 
in  France. 

We  wanted  to  go  to  the  service  in  the  Cathedral, 
but  thought  we  would  go  first  to  the  patissier  (an 
excellent  one,  well  known  in  all  the  neighbourhood) 
famous  for  a  very  good  bonbon  made  of  coffee 
and  called  "Tors  de  Soissons."  The  little  place 
was  full — every  schoolboy  in  Soissons  was  there 
eating  cakes  and  bonbons.     There  was  a  notice 

[187] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

up  in  the  shop,  "Lipton  Tea,"  and  we  immediately 
asked  for  some.  The  woman  made  a  place  for 
us,  with  difficulty,  on  a  corner  of  a  table  and  gave 
us  very  good  English  tea,  toast  and  cakes.  I 
complimented  the  patronne  on  her  tea  and  she 
said  so  many  automobiles  with  foreigners — Eng- 
lish principally — passed  through  Soissons  in  the 
summer — all  asking  for  tea — that  she  thought  she 
must  try  to  get  some.  One  of  the  ladies  told  her 
where  to  get  Lipton  Tea  and  how  much  to  pay 
for  it.  She  has  found  it  a  very  good  speculation. 
'  We  walked  to  the  Cathedral  through  a  grand  old 
Square  planted  with  fine  trees,  that  had  once  been 
a  part  of  the  garden  of  the  Eveche.  As  it  was 
getting  dark,  we  could  not  see  the  outside  very 
well.  A  gigantic  mass  of  towers  and  little  steeples 
loomed  up  through  the  twilight,  but  the  inside  was 
very  striking — crowded  with  people,  lights,  ban- 
ners, flowers  everywhere — five  or  six  priests  were 
officiating  and  the  Bishop  in  full  dress,  with  his 
gold  mitre  on  his  head,  was  seated  on  his  red  velvet 
throne  under  the  big  crucifix.  The  congregation 
(there  were  a  good  many  men)  was  following  the 
service  very  devoutly,  but  there  were  a  great  many 
people  walking  about  and  stopping  at  the  different 
chapels  which  rather  takes  away  from  the  devo- 
tional aspect.  Unfortunately  the  sermon  had  only 
just  begun,  so  we  didn't  hear  any  music.     The 

[188] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

organ  is  very  fine  and  they  have  a  very  good  choir. 
Neither  did  we  hear  the  famous  chimes,  which  we 
regretted  very  much.  Some  of  the  bells  have  a 
beautiful  sound — one  in  particular,  that  used  to 
be  at  St.  Jean  de  Vignes,  has  a  wonderful  deep 
note.  One  hears  it  quite  distinctly  above  all  the 
others.  All  the  bells  have  names.  This  one  used 
to  be  called  "Simon,"  after  a  Bishop  Simon  le 
Gras,  who  blessed  it  in  1643.  When  the  voice  got 
faint  and  cracked  with  age,  it  was  "refondue" 
(recast)  and  called  Julie  Pauline. 

It  was  quite  dark  and  cold  when  we  started  back. 
We  had  to  light  our  big  lantern  almost  as  soon 
as  we  left  Soissons.  For  some  little  time  after  we 
got  out  of  the  town  we  met  people  walking  and 
driving — all  with  holiday  garbs  and  faces — but 
once  we  plunged  in  the  long  forest  alleys  we  were 
absolutely  cut  off  from  the  outside  world.  It  is 
a  curious  sensation  I  have  never  got  accustomed  to, 
those  long,  dark,  lonely  forest  roads.  The  leaves 
were  still  so  thick  on  the  trees  that  we  could  hardly 
see  the  last  glow  of  a  beautiful  orange  sunset. 
The  only  sign  of  life  was  a  charbonnier's  hut  in  a 
clearing  quite  close  to  the  road.  They  had  a  dull 
light;  just  enough  to  let  us  see  dusky  figures  mov- 
ing about. 

This  morning  our  church  looked  quite  dififerent 
— no  more  banners,  embroideries  or  bright  flowers, 

[189] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

all  draped  in  black  and  a  bier  covered  with  a  black 
pall  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle — the  cure  in  a 
black  satin  vestment;  all  the  congregation  in  black. 
I  went  out  before  the  end  of  the  service.  All  the 
black  draperies  and  the  black  kneeling  figures 
and  the  funeral  psalms  were  so  inexpressibly  sad 
and  dreary.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  into  the  sun- 
shine and  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the  cemetery 
gates  stood  wide  open  and  the  sun  was  streaming 
down  on  all  the  green  graves  with  their  fresh 
flowers  and  plants.  Soon  we  heard  the  sound  of 
the  chaunt,  and  the  procession  wound  slowly  up 
the  steep,  straggling  village  street.  A  banner  and 
cross  carried  by  the  boys  and  girls — then  the  cure, 
with  his  "ostensoir,"  followed  by  his  "enfants  de 
choeur"  carrying  books  and  tapers,  then  the  con- 
gregation. There  were  a  great  many  people  al- 
ready in  the  cemetery.  The  little  procession 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  in  the  middle.  There 
were  several  prayers  and  psalms,  and  then  the 
cure  made  the  tour  of  the  cemetery,  sprinkling  all 
the  graves  with  holy  water  and  saying  a  short 
prayer  at  each.  The  procession  broke  up  into 
groups,  all  kneeling  at  the  different  graves  pray- 
ing for  their  dead.  There  were  not  many  men;  a 
few  old  ones.  They  were  not  kneeling,  but  stood 
reverently,  with  bowed  heads,  when  the  cure 
passed.     It  was  a  pretty  sight — the  kneeling  figures, 

[190] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

the  flower-covered  graves,  the  little  procession 
winding  in  and  out  among  the  tombstones,  the 
white  soutanes  of  the  boys  shining  in  the  sun  and 
not  a  sound  except  the  droning  of  the  chaunts. 
As  it  was  fete — one  of  the  great  religious  fetes 
of  the  year — ^there  was  no  work  going  on — ^no 
labourers  in  the  fields,  no  carts  on  the  road — noth- 
ing but  the  great  stillness  of  the  plains. 

We  had  our  cure  at  dinner.  We  were  quite 
sure  no  one  else  would  ask  him  and  it  seemed  a 
shame  to  leave  him  in  his  empty  "presbytere"  on 
a  fete  day.  I  think  his  evenings  with  us  are  the 
only  bright  spots  in  his  life  just  now.  The  situa- 
tion of  the  priests  is  really  wretched  and  their 
future  most  uncertain.  This  government  has  taken 
away  the  very  small  stipend  they  allowed  them. 
Our  cure  got  his  house  and  nine  hundred  francs 
a  year — ^not  quite  two  hundred  dollars.  In  many 
cases  they  have  refused  to  let  the  priests  live  in 
their  "presbyteres"  unless  they  pay  rent.  The 
churches  are  still  open.  They  can  have  their 
services  if  they  like,  but  those  who  have  no  for- 
tune (which  is  the  case  with  most  of  them)  are 
entirely  dependent  upon  the  voluntary  contribu- 
tion of  their  parishioners. 

Our  little  cure  has  no  longer  his  servant — ^the 
traditional,  plain,  middle-aged  bonne  of  the  priest 
(they  are  not  allowed  to  have  a  woman  servant 

[191] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

under  fifty).  He  lives  quite  alone  in  his  cold, 
empty  house  and  has  a  meal  of  some  kind  brought 
into  him  from  the  railway  cafe.  What  is  hardest 
for  him  is  never  to  have  an  extra  franc  to  give  to 
his  poor.  He  is  profoundly  discouraged,  but  does 
his  duty  simply  and  cheerfully;  looks  after  the 
sick,  nurses  them  when  there  is  a  long  illness  or 
an  accident,  teaches  the  women  how  to  keep  their 
houses  clean  and  how  to  cook  good  plain  food. 
He  is  a  farmer's  son  and  extraordinarily  practical. 
He  came  to  us  one  day  to  ask  if  we  had  a  spare 
washing  tub  we  could  give  him.  He  was  going  to 
show  a  woman  who  sewed  and  embroidered  beauti- 
fully and  who  was  very  poor  and  unpractical,  how 
to  do  her  washing.  I  think  the  people  have  a 
sort  of  respect  for  him,  but  they  don't  come  to 
church.  Everybody  appeals  to  him.  We  couldn't 
do  anything  one  day  with  a  big  kite  some  one  had 
given  the  children.  No  one  could  in  the  house, 
neither  gardener,  chauffeur,  nor  footmen,  so  we 
sent  for  him,  and  it  was  funny  to  see  him  shorten- 
ing the  tail  of  the  kite  and  racing  over  the  lawn  in 
his  black  soutane.     However,  he  made  it  work. 

He  was  rather  embarrassed  this  evening,  as  he 
had  refused  something  I  had  asked  him  to  do  and 
was  afraid  I  wouldn't  understand.  We  were  pass- 
ing along  the  canal  the  other  day  when  the"eclu- 
sier"  came  out  of  his  house  and  asked  me  if  I 

[192] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

would  come  and  look  at  his  child  who  was  fright- 
fully ill — ^his  wife  in  despair.  Without  thinking 
of  my  little  ones  at  home,  I  went  into  the  house, 
where  I  found,  in  a  dirty,  smelly  room,  a  slatternly 
woman  holding  in  her  arms  a  child,  about  two  years 
old,  who,  I  thought,  was  dead — such  a  ghastly 
colour — eyes  turned  up;  however,  the  poor  little 
thing  moaned  and  moved  and  the  woman  was 
shaken  with  sobs — the  father  and  two  older  chil- 
dren standing  there,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 
They  told  me  the  doctor  had  come  in  the  early 
morning  and  said  there  was  nothing  to  do.  I 
asked  if  they  had  not  sent  for  the  cure.  "No, 
they  hadn't  thought  of  it."  I  said  I  would  tell 
him  as  I  passed  the  presbytere  on  my  way  home. 
He  wasn't  there,  but  I  left  word  that  the  child  was 
dying — could  he  go  ? 

The  child  died  about  an  hour  after  I  had  left 
the  house.  I  sent  a  black  skirt  to  the  woman  and 
was  then  obliged  to  go  to  Paris  for  two  or  three 
days.  When  I  came  back  I  asked  my  gardener, 
who  is  from  this  part  of  the  country  and  knows 
everybody,  if  the  child's  funeral  had  been  quite 
right.  He  told  me  it  was  awful — there  was  no 
service — the  cure  would  not  bury  him  as  he  had 
never  been  baptized.  The  body  had  been  put 
into  a  plain  wooden  box  and  carried  to  the  ceme- 
tery by  the  father  and  a  friend. 

[193] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

I  was  very  much  upset,  but,  of  course,  the  thing 
was  over  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done.  How- 
ever, when  we  talked  it  over,  I  understood  quite 
well.  To  begin  with,  all  priests  are  forbidden  to 
read  the  burial  service  over  any  one  who  has  not 
been  baptized,  therefore  he  had  no  choice.  And 
this  man  was  not  only  an  unbeliever,  but  a  mocker 
of  all  religion.  When  his  last  child  was  born  he 
had  friends  over,  from  some  of  the  neighbouring 
villages,  who  were  Freemasons  (they  are  a  very 
bad  lot  in  France);  they  had  a  great  feast  and 
baptized  the  child  in  red  wine.  I  rather  regretted 
the  black  frock  I  sent  the  mother,  but  she  looked 
so  utterly  wretched  and  perhaps  she  could  not 
help  herself. 

The  little  cure  is  very  pleased  to  have  his  mid- 
night mass  this  year  on  Christmas  eve.  Last  year 
it  was  suppressed.  There  was  such  angry  feeling 
and  hostility  to  the  clergy  that  the  authorities  were 
afraid  there  might  be  scenes  and  noisy  protesta- 
tions in  the  churches;  perhaps  in  some  quarters 
of  the  big  cities,  but  certainly  not  in  the  country 
where  people  hold  very  much  to  the  midnight  mass. 
It  is  also  one  of  the  services  that  most  people 
attend.  It  is  always  a  pretty  sight  in  the  country, 
particularly  if  there  happens  to  be  snow  on  the 
ground.  Every  one  that  can  walk  comes.  One 
sees  the  little  bands  arriving  across  the  fields  and 

[194] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

along  the  canal — ^five  or  six  together,  with  a  lantern. 
Entire  families  turn  out — the  old  grandfathers 
hobbling  along  on  their  sticks,  the  women  carrying 
their  babies,  who  are  generally  very  good — quite 
taken  up  with  the  lights  and  music,  or  else  asleep. 
We  always  sing  Adam's  "Noel."  In  almost  every 
church  in  France,  I  think,  they  sing  it.  Even  in 
the  big  Paris  churches  like  the  Madeleine  and  St. 
Eustache,  where  they  have  orchestras  and  trained 
choirs,  they  always  sing  the  "Noel"  at  some 
period  of  the  service. 

Mareuil,  le  24  Mai. 

To-day  was  the  Premiere  Communion  at  La 
Ferte,  and  I  had  promised  the  Abbe  Devigne  to 
go.  I  couldn't  have  the  auto,  as  Francis  was  at 
a  meeting  of  a  Syndicat  Agricole  in  quite  another 
direction.  So  I  took  the  train  (about  seven  min- 
utes), and  I  really  believe  I  had  the  whole  train  to 
myself.  No  one  travels  in  France,  on  Sunday,  in 
the  middle  of  the  day.  It  is  quite  a  long  walk 
from  the  station  to  the  church  (the  service  was  at 
Notre  Dame,  the  church  on  the  hill),  with  rather 
a  steep  climb  at  the  end.  The  little  town  looked 
quite  deserted — a  few  women  standing  at  their 
doors  and  in  all  directions  white  figures  of  all  ages 
were  galloping  up  the  hill.  The  bells  were  ring- 
ing and  we  were  a  little  late.  The  big  doors  of 
the  church  were  wide  open,  the  organ  playing, 

1 195] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

and  a  good  many  people  standing  about.  The 
altar  was  bright  with  flowers  and  candles,  and 
"oriflammes"  of  blue  and  pink  gauze,  worked 
with  gold  and  silver  lilies,  were  stretched  across 
the  church  between  the  pillars.  One  or  two 
banners  with  the  head  of  the  Virgin  and  flowers 
painted  in  bright  colours  were  also  hanging  from 
the  columns.  Two  or  three  priests,  with  hand- 
some vestments — white  embroidered  in  gold — ■ 
were  oflficiating,  and  the  choir  boys  wore  their  red 
petticoats — soutanes  trimmed  with  lace  and  red 
shoes  and  caps.  The  Suisse  (beadle),  with  his 
cocked  hat,  silver  embroidered  coat  and  big  cane, 
was  hovering  about,  keeping  order. 

Just  inside  the  chancel  sat  the  "communiants'* 
— fifty  boys  and  girls.  The  girls — all  in  white 
from  top  to  toe — white  dresses,  shoes,  and  gloves, 
and  long  white  veils  coming  to  the  edge  of  the 
dress,  and  either  a  white  cap  (which  looks  very 
pretty  and  quaint  on  the  little  heads — ^rather  like 
some  of  the  old  Dutch  pictures)  or  a  wreath  of 
white  flowers.  With  them  sat  about  half  a  dozen 
smaller  girls — also  in  white,  with  wreaths  of  white 
roses.  They  were  too  small  to  make  their  first  com- 
munion, but  they  were  to  hold  the  cordons  of  the 
banner  when  the  procession  passed  down  the  church. 
The  boys  were  all  in  black,  short  jackets,  white 
waistcoats,  and  white  ribbon  bows  on  their  sleeves. 

[196] 


CEREMONIES  AND   FESTIVALS 

The  church  was  very  full — mostly  women,  a 
few  men  at  the  bottom.  It  was  a  pretty  sight 
when  the  procession  moved  around  the  church. 
First  came  the  "sacristain"  in  his  black  skirt  and 
white  soutane,  then  the  banner  held  by  two  of  the 
big  girls;  the  group  of  little  ones — some  of  them 
quite  tiny  and  so  pretty  with  the  wreaths  of  white 
roses  on  their  black  hair — holding  the  cords  and 
looking  most  pleased  with  their  part  of  the  func- 
tion. Just  behind  them  came  the  good  old  re- 
ligieuse  Soeur  St.  Antoine,  hovering  over  her  little 
flock  and  keeping  them  all  in  their  places;  then 
all  the  communiants,  the  smallest  girls  first,  the 
boys  behind,  all  carrying  lighted  tapers  and  singing 
a  hymn  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  organ. 

They  went  first  to  the  font,  stopped  there,  and 
one  of  the  girls  read  a  sort  of  prayer  renewing  their 
baptismal  vows.  Then  they  started  again,  in  the 
same  order,  to  the  Chapelle  de  la  Vierge,  always 
singing  their  hymn,  and  knelt  at  the  rails.  Then 
the  hymn  stopped,  and  they  recited,  all  together, 
a  prayer  to  the  Virgin.  The  little  childish  voices 
sounded  quite  distinctly  in  the  old  church — one 
heard  every  word.  The  congregation  was  much 
interested. 

There  wasn't  a  sound.  I  don't  know  if  it  was 
any  sort  of  religious  feeling — some  dim  recollec- 
tion of  their  early  days,  or  merely  the  love  of  a  show 

[197] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

of  any  kind  that  is  inherent  in  all  the  Latin  race, 
but  they  seemed  much  impressed.  While  the  col- 
lection was  being  made  there  was  music — very  good 
local  talent — two  violin  soli  played  by  a  young 
fellow,  from  one  of  the  small  neighbouring  cha- 
teaux, whom  we  all  knew  well,  and  the  **Panus 
Angelicus"  of  Cesar  Franck,  very  well  sung  by 
the  wife  of  the  druggist.  The  cure  of  La  Ferte, 
a  very  clever,  cultivated  man,  with  a  charming 
voice  and  manner,  made  a  very  pretty,  short  ad- 
dress, quite  suited  to  childish  ears  and  under- 
standing, with  a  few  remarks  at  the  end  to  the 
parents,  telling  them  it  was  their  fault  if  their 
children  grew  up  hostile  or  indifferent  to  religion; 
that  it  was  a  perfectly  false  idea  that  to  be  patriotic 
and  good  citizens  meant  the  abandonment  of  all 
religious  principles. 

We  waited  until  the  end  of  the  service  (Francis 
and  his  friends  arrived  in  time  to  hear  the  cure's 
address),  and  watched  the  procession  disappear 
down  the  steep  path  and  gradually  break  up  as 
each  child  was  carried  off  by  a  host  of  friends  and 
relations  to  its  home.  The  cure  was  very  pleased, 
said  he  had  had  a  "belle  fete" — people  had  sent 
flowers  and  ribbons  and  helped  as  much  as  they 
could  to  decorate  the  church.  I  asked  him  if  he 
thought  it  made  a  lasting  impression  on  the  chil- 
dren.    He  thought  it  did  on  the  girls,  but  the  boys 

[198] 


CEREMONIES  AND  FESTIVALS 

certainly  not.  Until  their  first  communion  he  held 
them  a  little,  could  interest  them  in  books  and 
games  after  school  hours,  but  after  that  great  step 
in  their  lives  they  felt  themselves  men,  and  were 
impatient  of  any  control. 


[199] 


VI 

CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

IT  had  been  a  cold  December,  quite  recalling 
Christmas  holidays  at  home — when  we  used 
to  think  Christmas  without  snow  wasn't  a  real 
Christmas,  and  half  the  pleasure  of  getting  the 
greens  to  dress  the  church  was  gone,  if  the  chil- 
dren hadn't  to  walk  up  to  their  ankles  in  un- 
trodden snow  across  the  fields  to  get  the  long, 
trailing  branches  of  ivy  and  bunches  of  pine.  We 
were  just  warm  enough  in  the  big  chateau.  There 
were  two  caloriferes,  and  roaring  wood  fires  (trees) 
in  the  chimneys;  but  even  I  must  allow  that  the 
great  stone  staircase  and  long  corridors  were  cold: 
and  I  couldn't  protest  when  nearly  all  the  members 
of  the  household — of  all  ages — wrapped  themselves 
in  woolen  shawls  and  even  fur  capes  at  night  when 
the  procession  mounted  the  big  staircase.  I  had 
wanted  for  a  long  time  to  make  a  Christmas  Tree 
in  our  lonely  little  village  of  St.  Quentin,  near 
Louvry,  our  farm,  but  I  didn't  get  much  support 
from  my  French  friends  and  relations.     W.  was 

[200J 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

decidedly  against  it.  The  people  wouldn't  under- 
stand— had  never  seen  such  a  thing;  it  was  en- 
tirely a  foreign  importation,  and  just  beginning  to 
be  understood  in  the  upper  classes  of  society. 
One  of  my  friends,  Madame  Casimir-Perier,* 
who  has  a  beautiful  chateau  at  Pont-sur-Seine  (of 
historic  renown — ''La  Grande  Mademoiselle" 
danced  there — "A  Pont  j'ai  fait  venir  les  violons," 
she  says  in  her  memoirs),  also  disapproved.  She 
gives  away  a  great  deal  herself,  and  looks  after  all 
her  village,  but  not  in  that  way.  She  said  I  had 
much  better  spend  the  money  it  would  cost,  on 
good,  sensible,  warm  clothes,  blankets,  "bons  de 
pain,"  etc.;  there  was  no  use  in  giving  them  ideas 
of  pleasure  and  refinement  they  had  never  had — 
and  couldn't  appreciate.  Of  course  it  was  all 
perfectly  logical  and  sensible,  but  I  did  so  want  to 
be  unreasonable,  and  for  once  give  these  poor, 
wretched  little  children  something  that  would  be  a 
delight  to  them  for  the  whole  year — one  poor  little 
ray  of  sunshine  in  their  gray,  dull  lives. 

We  had  many  discussions  in  the  big  drawing- 
room  after  dinner,  when  W.  was  smoking  in 
the  arm-chair  and  disposed  to  look  at  things  less 
sternly  than  in  bright  daylight.  However,  he 
finally  agreed  to  leave  me  a  free  hand,  and  I  told 

♦  Madame  Casimir-P^rier,  widow  of  the  well-known  liberal  states- 
man, and  mother  of  the  ex-President  of  the  Republic. 

[201] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

him  we  should  give  a  warm  garment  to  every  child, 
and  to  the  very  old  men  and  women.  I  knew  I 
should  get  plenty  of  help,  as  the  Sisters  and  Pauline 
promised  me  dolls  and  "dragees."  I  am  sorry  he 
couldn't  be  here;  the  presence  of  the  Ambassador 
would  give  more  eclat  to  the  fete,  and  I  think  in 
his  heart  he  was  rather  curious  as  to  what  we  could 
do,  but  he  was  obliged  to  go  back  to  London  for 
Christmas.  His  leave  was  up,  and  beside,  he  had 
various  country  and  shooting  engagements  where 
he  would  certainly  enjoy  himself  and  see  interest- 
ing people.  I  shall  stay  over  Christmas  and  start 
for  London  about  the  29th,  so  as  to  be  ready  to 
go  to  Knowsley*  by  the  30th,  where  we  always 
spend  the  New  Year's  Day. 

We  started  off  one  morning  after  breakfast  to 
interview  the  school-mistress  and  the  Mayor — a 
most  important  personage.  If  you  had  ever  seen 
St.  Quentin  you  would  hardly  believe  it  could 
possess  such  an  exalted  functionary.  The  village 
consists  of  about  twelve  little,  low  gray  houses, 
stretching  up  a  steep  hill,  with  a  very  rough  road 
toward  the  woods  of  Borny  behind.  There  are 
forty  inhabitants,  a  church,  and  a  school-house; 
but  it  w  a  "commune,"  and  not  the  smallest  in 
France  (there  is  another  still  smaller  somewhere 
in  the  South,  toward  the  Alpes  Maritimes).    I 

*  The  Earl  of  Derby's  fine  palace  near  Liverpool. 
[202] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

always  go  and  make  a  visit  to  the  Mayor,  who  is  a 
very  small  farmer  and  keeps  the  drinking  shop*  of 
the  village.  We  shake  hands  and  I  sit  a  few 
minutes  in  a  wooden  chair  in  the  one  room  (I 
don't  take  a  drink,  which  is  so  much  gained),  and 
we  talk  about  the  wants  and  general  behaviour  of 
the  population.  The  first  time  I  went  I  was  on 
horseback,  so  we  dismounted  and  had  our  little 
talk.  When  we  got  up  to  go  he  hurriedly  brought 
out  a  bench  for  me  to  mount  from,  and  was  quite 
bewildered  when  he  saw  W.  lift  me  to  the  saddle 
from  the  ground. 

The  church  is  a  pretty,  old  gray  building — 
standing  very  high,  with  the  little  graveyard  on 
one  side,  and  a  grass  terrace  in  front,  from  which 
one  has  the  most  lovely  view  down  the  valley,  and 
over  the  green  slopes  to  the  woods — Borny  and 
Villers-Cotterets  on  one  side,  Chezy  the  other.  It 
is  very  worn  and  dilapidated  inside,  and  is  never 
open  except  on  the  day  of  St.  Quentin,f  when  the 
cure  of  La  Ferte-Milon  comes  over  and  has  a 
service.  The  school-house  is  a  nice  modem  little 
house,  built  by  W.  some  years  ago.  It  looks  as 
if  it  had  dropped  down  by  mistake  into  this  very 
old  world  little  hamlet. 

It  is  a  short  walk,  little  more  than  two  kilo- 
metres from  the  gates  of  the  big  park,  and  the  day 

*  Cabaret.  -j-  In  August,  I  think. 

[203] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

was  enchanting — cold  and  bright;  too  bright,  in- 
deed, for  the  low,  gray  clouds  of  the  last  days 
had  been  promising  snow  and  I  wanted  it  so  much 
for  my  tree!  We  were  quite  a  party — Henrietta, 
Anne,  Pauline,  Alice  and  Francis,  Bonny  the  fox- 
terrier,  and  a  very  large  and  heavy  four-wheeled 
cart,  which  the  children  insisted  upon  taking  and 
which  naturally  had  to  be  drawn  up  all  the  hills 
by  the  grown-ups,  as  it  was  much  too  heavy  for  the 
little  ones.  Bonny  enjoyed  himself  madly,  making 
frantic  excursions  to  the  woods  in  search  of  rabbits, 
absolutely  unheeding  call  or  whistle,  and  finally 
emerging  dirty  and  scratched,  stopping  at  all  the 
rabbit  holes  he  met  on  the  way  back,  and  burrow- 
ing deep  into  them  until  nothing  was  left  but  a 
stumpy  little  white  tail  wagging  furiously. 

We  went  first  to  the  Mayor,  as  we  were  obliged 
to  ask  his  permission  to  give  our  party  at  the  school. 
Nothing  in  France  can  be  done  without  official 
sanction.  I  wanted,  too,  to  speak  to  him  about  a 
church  service,  which  I  was  very  anxious  to  have 
before  the  Tree  was  lighted.  I  didn't  want  the 
children's  only  idea  of  Christmas  to  be  cakes  and 
toys;  and  that  was  rather  difficult  to  arrange,  as 
the  situation  is  so  strained  between  the  clergy  and 
the  laiques,  particularly  the  cure  and  the  school- 
master. I  knew  I  should  have  no  trouble  with  the 
school-mistress  (the  school  is  so  small  it  is  mixed — 

[204] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

girls  and  boys  from  four  to  twelve — and  there  is 
a  woman  teacher;  she  is  the  wife  of  one  of  our 
keepers,  and  a  nice  woman) —  but  I  didn't  know 
how  the  Mayor  would  feel  on  the  subject.  How- 
ever, he  was  most  amiable;  would  do  anything  I 
wanted.  I  said  I  held  very  much  to  having  the 
church  open  and  that  I  would  like  as  many  people 
to  come  as  it  would  hold.  Would  he  tell  all  the 
people  in  the  neighbourhood?  I  would  write  to 
the  principal  farmers,  and  I  was  sure  we  could 
make  a  most  interesting  fete.  He  was  rather 
flattered  at  being  consulted;  said  he  would  come 
up  with  us  and  open  the  church.  It  was  absolutely 
neglected  and  there  was  nothing  in  the  way  of 
benches,  carpets,  etc.  I  told  him  I  must  go  first 
to  the  school,  but  I  would  meet  him  at  the  church 
in  half  an  hour. 

The  children  were  already  up  the  hill,  tugging  the 
big  cart  filled  with  pine  cones.  The  school-mistress 
was  much  pleased  at  the  idea  of  the  Christmas 
Tree;  she  had  never  seen  one  except  in  pictures, 
and  never  thought  she  would  really  have  one  in 
her  school.  We  settled  the  day,  and  she  promised 
to  come  and  help  arrange  the  church.  Then  we 
went  into  the  school-room,  and  it  was  funny  to 
hear  the  answer — a  roar — of  "Oui,  Madame 
Waddington,"  when  I  asked  her  if  the  children 
were  "good";   so  we  told  them  if  they  continued 

[  205  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

very  good  there  would  be  a  surprise  for  them. 
There  are  only  thirty  scholars — rather  poor  and 
miserable  looking;  some  of  them  come  from  so  far, 
trudge  along  the  high-road  in  a  little  band,  in  all 
weathers,  insufficiently  clad — one  big  boy  to-day 
had  on  a  linen  summer  jacket.  I  asked  the  teacher 
if  he  had  a  tricot  underneath.  "Mais  non,  Ma- 
dame, ou  I'aurait-il  trouve  ?''  He  had  a  miserable 
little  shirt  underneath  which  may  once  have  been 
flannel,  but  which  was  worn  threadbare. 

We  chose  our  day  and  then  adjourned  to  the 
church,  where  the  Mayor  and  a  nice,  red-cheeked, 
wrinkled  old  woman*  who  keeps  the  ornaments, 
such  as  they  are,  of  the  church  were  waiting  for 
us.  It  was  certainly  bare  and  neglected,  the  old 
church,  bits  of  plaster  dropping  off  walls  and 
ceilings,  and  the  altar  and  one  or  two  little  statues 
still  in  good  condition;  but  we  saw  we  could  ar- 
range it  pretty  well  with  greens,  the  few  flowers, 
chrysanthemums,  Christmas  roses,  etc.,  that  were 
still  in  the  green-house,  a  new  red  carpet  for  the 
altar  steps,  and  of  course  vases,  tall  candlesticks, 
etc.  There  was  one  handsome  bit  of  old  lace  on 
a  white  nappe  for  the  altar,  and  a  good  dress  for 
the  Virgin.  We  could  have  the  school  benches,  and 
the  Mayor  would  lend  chairs  for  the  "quality." 
On    the   whole   we   were   satisfied,   and   told   W. 

*  La  Mere  Rogov. 

[ 


Tho  Mayor  and  a  nioe,  red-cheeked,  wrinkled  old  woman  were  waiting  for  U3. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

triumphantly  at  dinner  that  the  Mayor,  so  far 
from  making  any  objection,  was  pleased  as  Punch; 
he  had  never  seen  a  Christmas  Tree  either. 

The  next  day  the  list  of  the  children  was  sent 
according  to  age  and  sex — also  the  old  people; 
and  we  were  very  busy  settling  what  we  must  do 
in  the  way  of  toys.  The  principal  thing  was  to  go 
to  Paris  and  get  all  we  wanted — ^toys,  "betises," 
and  shiny  things  for  the  Tree,  etc.  Henrietta  and 
I  undertook  that,  and  we  went  oJ0E  the  same  day 
that  W.  left  for  London.  It  was  bitterly  cold — 
the  ground  frozen  hard — and  we  had  a  long  drive, 
eighteen  kilometres  through  Villers-Cotterets  forest 
— but  no  snow,  only  a  beautiful  white  frost — all 
the  trees  and  bushes  covered  with  rime.  It  was 
like  driving  through  a  fairy  forest.  When  we  had 
occasional  gleams  of  sunlight  every  leaf  sparkled, 
and  the  red  berries  of  the  holly  stood  out  beauti- 
fully from  all  the  white.  The  fine  old  ruins  of 
La  Ferte  looked  splendid  rising  out  of  a  mass  of 
glistening  underwood  and  long  grass.  We  are  very 
proud  of  our  old  chateau-fort,  which  has  with- 
stood well  the  work  of  time.  It  was  begun  (and 
never  finished)  by  Louis  d'Orleans  in  1303,  and 
was  never  inhabited.  Now  there  is  nothing  left 
but  the  fa9ade  and  great  round  towers,  but  quite 
enough  to  show  what  it  might  have  been.  There 
is  also  a  bas-relief,  perfectly  well  preserved,  over 

[207] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

the  big  door,  of  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  the 
kneeling  figure  quite  distinct.  On  the  other  side 
is  a  great  grass  place  (village  green)  where  the 
fetes  of  La  Ferte  take  place,  and  where  all  the  town 
dances  the  days  of  the  "Assemblee."  From  the 
bottom  of  the  terrace,  at  the  foot  of  the  low  wall, 
one  has  a  magnificent  view  over  the  town  and  the 
great  forest  of  Villers-Cotterets  stretching  away  in 
front,  a  long  blue  line  on  the  horizon.  In  the  main 
street  of  La  Ferte  there  is  a  statue  of  Racine, 
who  was  born  there.  It  is  in  white  marble,  in 
the  classic  draperies  of  the  time,  and  is  also  in 
very  good  preservation.  The  baptismal  register 
of  Jean  Racine  is  in  the  archives  of  La  Ferte. 

The  road  all  the  way  to  Villers-Cotterets  was 
most  animated.  It  was  market-day,  and  we  met 
every  description  of  vehicle,  from  the  high,  old- 
fashioned  tilbury  of  the  well-to-do  farmer,  to  the 
peasant's  cart — sometimes  an  old  woman  driving, 
well  wrapped  up,  her  turban  on  her  head,  but  a 
knit  shawl  wound  around  it,  carrying  a  lot  of 
cheeses  to  market;  sometimes  a  man  with  a  cow 
tied  behind  his  cart,  and  a  calf  inside.  We  also 
crossed  Menier's  equipage  de  chasse,  horses  and 
dogs  being  exercised.  We  talked  a  few  minutes 
to  Hubert,  the  piqueur,  who  was  in  a  very  bad 
humor.  They  had  not  hunted  for  some  days,  and 
dogs  and  horses  were  unruly.     The  horses  were 

[208] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

a  fine  lot,  almost  all  white  or  light  gray.  We  go 
sometimes  to  the  meets,  and  the  eflect  is  very 
good,  as  the  men  all  wear  scarlet  coats  and  the 
contrast  is  striking. 

We  had  an  exhausting  day  in  Paris,  but  managed 
to  get  pretty  nearly  everything.  The  little  chil- 
dren were  easily  disposed  of — dolls,  drums,  wooden 
horses,  etc.;  but  the  bigger  boys  and  girls,  who 
have  outgrown  toys,  are  more  difficult  to  suit. 
However,  with  knives,  paint-boxes,  lotos  (geograph- 
ical and  historical),  for  the  boys;  and  handkerchief 
and  work-boxes,  morocco  bags,  etc.,  we  did  finally 
get  our  fifty  objects.  There  are  always  extra 
children  cropping  up.  Shopping  was  not  very  easy, 
as  the  streets  and  boulevards  were  crowded  and 
slippery.  We  had  a  fairly  good  cab,  but  the  time 
seemed  endless.  The  big  bazaars — Hotel  de  Ville, 
rue  d' Amsterdam,  etc. — were  the  most  amusing; 
really,  one  could  get  anything  from  a  five-sou  doll 
to  a  menagere  (the  little  cooking-stove  all  the 
peasant  women  use  in  their  cottages) .  There  were 
armies  of  extras — white-aproned  youths,  who  did 
their  best  for  us.  We  explained  to  one  of  the 
superintendents  what  we  wanted,  and  he  gave  us 
a  very  intelligent  boy,  who  followed  us  about  with 
an  enormous  basket,  into  which  everything  was 
put.  When  we  finally  became  almost  distracted 
with  the  confusion  and  the  crowd  and  our  list, 

[209] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

we  asked  the  boy  what  he  had  liked  when  he  was 
eleven  years  old  at  school;  and  he  assured  us  all 
boys  liked  knives  and  guns. 

When  we  had  finished  with  the  boys  we  had  the 
decorations  for  the  Tree  to  get,  and  then  to  the 
Bon  Marche  for  yards  of  flannel,  calico,  bas  de 
laine,  tricots,  etc.  We  had  given  W.  rendezvous 
at  five  at  Henrietta's.  He  was  going  to  cross  at 
night.  We  found  him  there  having  his  tea.  He 
had  seen  lots  of  people;  been  to  the  Elysee  and  had 
a  long  interview  with  the  President  (Grevy) ;  then 
to  the  Quai  d'Orsay  to  get  his  last  instructions 
from  the  Minister;  and  he  had  still  people  coming 
to  see  him.  When  we  left  (our  train  was  before 
his)  he  was  closeted  with  one  of  his  friends,  a 
candidate  for  the  Institute,  very  keen  about  his 
vote  which  W.  had  promised  him,  and  going 
over  for  about  the  twentieth  time  the  list  of  the 
members  to  see  what  his  chances  were.  However, 
I  suppose  all  candidates  are  exactly  alike,  and 
W.  says  he  is  sure  he  was  a  nuisance  to  all  his 
friends  when  he  presented  himself  at  the  Institute. 
One  or  two  people  were  waiting  in  the  dining-room 
to  speak  to  him,  and  his  servant  was  distracted 
over  his  valise,  which  wasn't  begun  then.  I  prom- 
ised him  I  would  write  him  a  faithful  account  of 
our  fete  once  we  had  decided  our  day.  We  took 
the  five-o'clock  train  down,  and  a  nice  cold  drive 

[210] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

we  had  going  home.  The  roads  were  rather 
slippery,  and  the  forest  black  and  weird.  The 
trees  which  had  been  so  beautiful  in  the  morning 
covered  with  rime,  seemed  a  massive  black  wall 
hemming  us  in.  It  is  certainly  a  lonely  bit  of 
country,  once  we  had  left  the  lights  of  Villers- 
Cotterets  behind  us,  crossed  the  last  railway,  and 
were  fairly  started  in  the  forest.  We  didn't  meet 
anything — neither  cart,  carriage,  bucheron,  nor 
pedestrian  of  any  kind. 

Henrietta  was  rather  nervous,  and  she  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  we  got  out  on  the  plains  and 
trotted  down  the  long  hill  that  leads  to  La  Ferte. 
The  chateau  lights  looked  very  warm  and  home- 
like as  we  drove  in.  We  gave  a  detailed  account 
of  all  we  had  bought,  and  as  we  had  brought  our 
lists  with  us  we  went  to  work  at  once,  settling  what 
each  child  should  have.  I  found  a  note  from  the 
Abbe  Marechal,  the  cure  of  Laferte-Milon,  whom 
I  wanted  to  consult  about  our  service.  He  is  a 
very  clever,  moderate  man,  a  great  friend  of  ours, 
and  I  was  sure  he  would  help  us  and  arrange  a 
service  of  some  kind  for  the  children.  Of  course 
I  was  rather  vague  about  a  Catholic  service;  a 
Protestant  one  I  could  have  arranged  myself,  with 
some  Christmas  carols  and  a  short  liturgy,  but  I 
had  no  idea  what  Christmas  meant  to  Catholic 
minds.     We  had  asked  him  to  come  to  breakfast, 

[m] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

and  we  would  go  over  to  the  village  afterward,  see 
the  church  and  what  could  be  done.  He  was  quite 
pleased  at  the  idea  of  doing  anything  for  his  poor 
little  parish,  and  he  is  so  fond  of  children  and  young 
people  that  he  was  quite  as  much  interested  as  we 
were.  He  knew  the  church,  having  held  a  service 
there  three  or  four  times.  We  walked  over,  talking 
over  the  ceremony  and  what  we  could  do.  He  said 
he  would  give  a  benediction,  bring  over  the  Enfant 
Jesus,  and  make  a  small  address  to  the  children. 
The  music  was  rather  difficult  to  arrange,  but  we 
finally  agreed  that  we  would  send  a  big  omnibus  to 
bring  over  the  harmonium  from  La  Ferte,  one  or 
two  Sisters,  two  choir  children,  and  three  or  four 
of  the  older  girls  of  the  school  who  could  sing,  and 
he  would  see  that  they  learned  two  or  three  can- 
ticles. 

We  agreed  to  do  everything  in  the  way  of  deco- 
ration. He  made  only  one  condition:  that  the 
people  should  come  to  the  service.  I  could  answer 
for  all  our  household  and  for  some  of  the  neigh- 
bours— almost  all,  in  fact — as  I  was  sure  the  novel- 
ty of  the  Christmas  Tree  would  attract  them,  and 
they  wouldn't  mind  the  church  service  thrown  in. 

We  went  of  course  to  see  the  Mayor,  as  the 
cure  was  obliged  to  notify  him  that  he  wished  to 
open  the  church,  and  also  to  choose  the  day.  We 
took  Thursday,  which  is  the  French  holiday;  that 

[212] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

left  us  just  two  days  to  make  our  preparations. 
We  told  Madame  Isidore  (the  school-mistress)  we 
would  come  on  Wednesday  for  the  church,  bring- 
ing flowers,  candles,  etc.,  and  Thursday  morning 
to  dress  the  Tree.  The  service  was  fixed  for  three 
o'clock — the  Tree  afterward  in  the  school-room. 
We  found  our  big  ballots*  from  the  bazaars  and 
other  shops,  when  we  got  home,  and  all  the  evening 
we  wrote  tickets  and  names  (some  of  them  so  high- 
sounding — Ismerie,  Aline,  Leocadie,  etc.),  and 
filled  little  red  and  yellow  bags,  which  were  very 
troublesome  to  make,  with  "dragees." 

Wednesday  we  made  a  fine  expedition  to  the 
woods — the  whole  party,  the  donkey-cart,  and  one 
of  the  keepers  to  choose  the  Tree — a  most  impor- 
tant performance,  as  we  wanted  the  real  pyramid 
'*sapin,"  tapering  off  to  a  fine  point  at  the  top. 
Labbey  (keeper)  told  us  his  young  son  and  the 
coachman's  son  had  been  all  the  morning  in  the 
woods  getting  enormous  branches  of  pine,  holly, 
and  ivy,  which  we  would  find  at  the  church.  We 
came  across  various  old  women  making  up  their 
bundles  of  fagots  and  dead  wood  (they  are  always 
allowed  to  come  once  a  week  to  pick  up  the  dead 
wood,  under  the  keeper's  surveillance).  They 
were  principally  from  Louvry  and  St.  Quentin,  and 
were  staggering  along,  carrying  quite  heavy  bun- 

*  Big  packages. 
1213] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

dies  on  their  poor  old  bent  backs.  However,  they 
were  very  smiling  to-day,  and  I  think  the  burden 
was  lightened  by  the  thought  of  the  morrow.  We 
found  a  fine  tree,  which  was  installed  with  some 
difficulty  in  the  donkey-cart;  Francis  and  Alice 
taking  turns  driving,  perched  on  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  and  Labbey  walking  behind,  supporting  the 
top  branches. 

We  found  the  boys  at  the  church,  having  already 
begun  their  decorations — enormous,  high  pine 
branches  ranged  all  along  the  wall,  and  trails  of 
ivy  on  the  windows.  The  maids  had  arrived  in 
the  carriage,  bringing  the  new  red  carpet,  vases, 
candelabras  and  tall  candlesticks,  also  two  splendid 
wax  candles  painted  and  decorated,  which  Ger- 
trude Schuyler  had  brought  us  from  Italy;  all  the 
flowers  the  gardener  would  give  them,  principally 
chrysanthemums  and  Christmas  roses.  It  seems 
he  wasn't  at  all  well  disposed;  couldn't  imagine 
why  "ces  dames"  wanted  to  despoil  the  green- 
houses "pour  ce  petit  trou  de  St.  Quentin." 

We  all  worked  hard  for  about  an  hour,  and  the 
little  church  looked  quite  transformed.  The  red 
carpet  covered  all  the  worn,  dirty  places  on  the 
altar  steps,  and  the  pine  branches  were  so  high  and 
so  thick  that  the  walls  almost  disappeared.  When 
the  old  woman  (gardienne)  appeared  she  was 
speechless    with    delight!     As    soon    as    we    had 

[214] 


'''d^'^'^^K^ 


There  was  nue  handsdnie  i)it  of  oicl  luce  on  a  white  nappe  for  the  altar. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

jBnished  there,  we  adjourned  to  the  school-house, 
and  to  our  joy  snow  was  falling — quite  heavy 
flakes.  Madame  Isidore  turned  all  the  children 
into  a  small  room,  and  we  proceeded  to  set  up  our 
Tree.  It  was  a  great  deal  too  tall,  and  if  we  hadn't 
been  there  they  would  certainly  have  chopped  it 
off  at  the  top,  quite  spoiling  our  beautiful  point; 
but  as  we  insisted,  they  cut  away  from  the  bottom, 
and  it  really  was  the  regular  pyramid  one  always 
wants  for  a  Christmas  Tree.  We  put  it  in  a  big 
green  case  (which  we  had  obtained  with  great 
difficulty  from  the  gardener;  it  was  quite  empty, 
standing  in  the  orangerie,  but  he  was  convinced  we 
would  never  bring  it  back) ,  moss  all  around  it,  and 
it  made  a  great  effect.  The  "garde  de  Borny'* 
arrived  while  we  were  working,  and  said  he  would 
certainly  come  to  the  church  in  his  "tenue  de 
garde";  our  two  keepers  would  also  be  there. 

Thursday  morning  we  went  early  (ten  o'clock) 
to  St.  Quentin  and  spent  over  two  hours  decorating 
the  Tree,  ticketing  and.  arranging  all  the  little  gar- 
ments. Every  child  in  the  neighbourhood  was 
hanging  around  the  school-house  when  we  arrived, 
the  entrance  being  strictly  forbidden  until  after  the 
service,  when  the  Tree  would  be  lighted.  I  ex- 
pressed great  surprise  at  seeing  the  children  at  the 
school  on  a  holiday,  and  there  were  broad  grins 
as  they  answered,  "Madame  Waddington  nous  a 

[215] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

dit  de  venir."  It  had  snowed  all  night,  and  the 
clouds  were  low  and  gray,  and  looked  as  if  they 
were  still  full  of  snow.  The  going  was  extremely 
difficult;  not  that  the  snow  was  very  deep,  but 
there  was  enough  to  make  the  roads  very  slippery. 
We  had  the  horses  "ferres  a  glace,"  and  even  the 
donkey  had  nails  on  his  shoes.  The  country  looked 
beautiful — the  poor  little  village  quite  picturesque, 
snow  on  all  the  dark  roofs,  and  the  church  standing 
out  splendidly  from  its  carpet  of  snow — the  tall 
pines  not  quite  covered,  and  always  the  curtain  of 
forest  shutting  in  the  valley. 

We  left  the  maids  to  breakfast  with  the  keeper, 
and  promised  to  be  back  at  three  o'clock  punctu- 
ally. Our  coachman,  Hubert,  generally  objects 
strongly  to  taking  out  his  horses  in  bad  weather  on 
rough  country  roads  and  making  three  or  four 
trips  backward  and  forward;  but  to-day  he  was 
quite  serene.  He  comes  from  that  part  of  the 
neighbourhood  and  is  related  to  half  the  village. 
Our  progress  was  slow,  as  we  stopped  a  good  deal. 
It  was  a  pretty  sight  as  we  got  near  St.  Quentin: 
the  church,  brightly  lighted,  stood  out  well  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  against  a  background  of  tall  trees, 
the  branches  just  tipped  with  snow.  The  bell  was 
ringing,  the  big  doors  wide  open,  sending  out  a 
glow  of  warmth  and  colour,  and  the  carpet  of  white 
untrodden  country  snow  was  quite  intact,  except  a 

[216] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

little  pathway  made  by  the  feet  of  the  men  who  had 
brought  up  the  harmonium.  The  red  carpet  and 
bright  chrysanthemums  made  a  fine  effect  of 
colour,  and  the  little  "niche"  (it  could  hardly  be 
called  a  chapel)  of  the  Virgin  was  quite  charming, 
all  dressed  with  greens  and  white  flowers,  our  tall 
Italian  candles  making  a  grand  show. 

The  La  Ferte  contingent  had  arrived.  They 
had  much  difficulty  in  getting  the  omnibus  up  to 
the  church,  as  it  was  heavy  with  the  harmonium  on 
top;  however,  everybody  got  out  and  walked  up 
the  hill,  and  all  went  off  well.  The  Abbe  was 
robing,  with  his  two  choir  children,  in  the  minute 
sacristy,  and  the  two  good  Sisters  were  standing  at 
the  gate  with  all  their  little  flock — about  ten  girls, 
I  should  think.  There  were  people  in  every  direc- 
tion, of  all  sizes  and  ages — some  women  carrying 
a  baby  in  their  arms  and  pushing  one  or  two  others 
in  a  cart,  some  wretched  old  people  so  bent  and 
wrinkled  one  couldn't  imagine  how  they  could 
crawl  from  one  room  to  another.  A  miserable  old 
man  bent  double,  really,  leaning  on  a  child  and 
walking  with  two  canes,  was  pointed  out  to  me  as 
the  "pere  Colin,"  who  makes  the  "margottins" 
(bundles  of  little  dry  sticks  used  for  making  the 
fires)  for  the  chateau.  However,  they  were  all 
streaming  up  the  slippery  hill-side,  quite  unmind- 
ful of  cold  or  fatigue.     We  walked  up,  too,  and  I 

[217] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

went  first  to  the  school-house  to  see  if  our  provisions 
had  come.  Food  was  also  a  vexed  question,  as  tea 
and  buns,  which  would  seem  natural  to  us,  were 
unknown  in  these  parts.  After  many  consulta- 
tions with  the  women  about  us — lessiveuses  (wash- 
erwomen), keepers'  wives,  etc* — we  decided  upon 
hot  wine  and  brioches.  The  Mayor  undertook  to 
supply  the  wine  and  the  glasses,  and  we  ordered 
the  brioches  from  the  Hotel  du  Sauvage  at  La 
Ferte;  the  son  of  the  house  is  a  very  good  patissier. 
It  is  a  funny,  old-fashioned  little  hotel,  not  very 
clean,  but  has  an  excellent  cuisine,  also  a  wonderful 
sign  board — a  bright  red  naked  savage,  with 
feathers  in  his  hair  and  a  club  in  his  hand — rather 
like  the  primitive  pictures  of  North  American 
Indians  in  our  school-books. 

Everything  was  there,  and  the  children  just 
forming  the  procession  to  walk  to  the  church. 
Some  of  the  farmers'  wives  were  also  waiting  for 
us  at  the  school-house,  so  I  only  had  a  moment  to 
go  into  the  big  class-room  to  see  if  the  Tree  looked 
all  right.  It  was  quite  ready,  and  we  agreed  that 
the  two  big  boys  with  the  keeper  should  begin  to 
light  it  as  soon  as  the  service  was  over.  Madame 
Isidore  (the  schoolmistress)  was  rather  unhappy 
about  the  quantity  of  people.  There  were  many 
more  than  thirty  children,  but  Henrietta  and  Pau- 
line had  made  up  a  bundle  of  extras,  and  I  was 

[218] 


They  were  all  streaming  >jp  the  slippery  hillside. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

sure  there  would  be  enough.  She  told  us  people 
had  been  on  the  way  since  nine  in  the  morning — 
women  and  children  arriving  cold  and  wet  and 
draggled,  but  determined  to  see  everything.  She 
showed  me  one  woman  from  Chezy,  the  next  village 
(some  distance  off,  as  our  part  of  the  country  is 
very  scantily  populated;  it  is  all  great  farms  and 
forests;  one  can  go  miles  without  seeing  a  trace  of 
habitation).  She  had  arrived  quite  early  with  two 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl  of  seven  and  eight,  and 
a  small  baby  in  her  arms;  and  when  Madame 
Isidore  remonstrated,  saying  the  fete  was  for  her 
school  only,  not  for  the  entire  country-side,  the 
woman  answered  that  Madame  always  smiled  and 
spoke  so  nicely  to  her  when  she  passed  on  horse- 
back that  she  was  sure  she  would  want  her  to  come. 
The  French  peasants  love  to  be  spoken  to,  always 
answer  civilly,  and  are  interested  in  the  horses, 
or  the  donkey,  or  the  children — anything  that 
passes. 

We  couldn't  loiter,  as  the  bell  was  tolling,  the 
children  already  at  the  church,  and  some  one  rushed 
down  to  say  that  "  M.  le  Cure  attendait  ces  dames 
pour  commencer  son  office."  There  was  quite  a 
crowd  on  the  little  '*  place,"  everybody  waiting  for 
us  to  come  in.  We  let  the  children  troop  in  first, 
sitting  on  benches  on  one  side.  In  front  of  the 
altar  there  were  rows  of  chairs  for  the  "quality." 

[219] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

The  Sisters  and  their  girls  sat  close  up  to  the  har- 
monium, and  on  a  table  near,  covered  with  a  pretty 
white  linen  cloth  trimmed  with  fine  old  lace  (part 
of  the  church  property),  was  the  Enfant  Jesus  in 
his  cradle.  This  was  to  be  a  great  surprise  to  me. 
When  it  was  decided  that  the  Sisters  should  come 
to  the  fete  with  some  of  the  bigger  girls,  and  bring 
the  Enfant  Jesus,  they  thought  there  must  be  a 
new  dress  for  the  **  babe,"  so  every  child  subscribed 
a  sou,  and  the  dress  was  made  by  the  couturiere 
of  La  Ferte.  It  was  a  surprise,  for  the  Enfant 
Jesus  was  attired  in  a  pink  satin  garment  with  the 
high  puffed  fashionable  sleeves  we  were  all  wearing! 
However,  I  concealed  my  feelings,  the  good  Sisters 
were  so  naively  pleased.  I  could  only  hope  the 
children  would  think  the  sleeves  were  wings. 

As  soon  as  the  party  from  the  chateau  was  seated, 
every  one  crowded  in,  and  there  were  not  seats 
enough,  nor  room  enough  in  the  little  church;  so 
the  big  doors  remained  open  (it  was  fairly  warm 
with  the  lights  and  the  people),  and  there  were 
nearly  as  many  people  outside  as  in.  The  three 
keepers  (Garde  de  Borny  and  our  two)  looked 
very  imposing.  They  are  all  big  men,  and  their 
belts  and  gun-barrels  bright  and  shining.  They 
stood  at  the  doors  to  keep  order.  The  Mayor, 
too,  was  there,  in  a  black  coat  and  white  cravat, 
but  he  came  up  to  the  top  of  the  church  and  sat 

[220] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

in  the  same  row  with  me.  He  didn't  have  on  his 
tricoloured  scarf,  so  I  suppose  he  doesn't  possess 
one. 

It  was  a  pretty,  simple  service.  When  the  cur^ 
and  his  two  choir  children  in  their  short,  white 
surplices  and  red  petticoats  came  up  the  aisle,  the 
choir  sang  the  fine  old  hymn  "Adeste  Fideles," 
the  congregation  all  joining  in.  We  sang,  too,  the 
English  words  ("Oh,  come,  all  ye  Faithful");  we 
didn't  know  the  Latin  ones,  but  hoped  nobody 
would  notice.  There  were  one  or  two  prayers  and 
a  pretty,  short  address,  talking  of  the  wonderful 
Christmas  night  so  many  years  ago,  when  the 
bright  star  guided  the  shepherds  through  the  cold 
winter  night  to  the  stable  where  the  heavenly  babe 
was  born.  The  children  listened  most  attentively, 
and  as  all  the  boys  in  the  village  begin  life  as 
shepherds  and  cow-boys,  they  were  wildly  inter- 
ested. Then  there  was  a  benediction,  and  at  the 
end  all  the  children  in  procession  passed  before 
the  Enfant  Jesus  and  kissed  his  foot.  It  was 
pretty  to  see  the  little  ones  standing  up  on  tip-toe 
to  get  to  the  little  foot,  and  the  mothers  holding 
up  their  babes.  While  this  was  going  on,  the 
choir  sang  the  Noel  Breton  of  Holmes,  "Deux 
anges  sont  venus  ce  soir  m'apporter  de  bien 
belles  choses."  There  was  some  little  delay  in 
getting  the  children  into  procession  again  to  go 

[221] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

down  to  the  school-house.  They  had  been  super- 
naturally  good,  but  were  so  impatient  to  see  the 
Tree  that  it  was  difficult  to  hold  them.  Henrietta 
and  Pauline  hurried  on  to  light  the  Tree.  I  waited 
for  the  Abbe.  He  was  much  pleased  with  the 
attendance,  and  spoke  so  nicely  to  all  the  people. 
We  found  the  children  all  assembled  in  the  small 
room  at  the  school-house,  and  as  soon  as  we  could 
get  through  the  crowd  we  let  them  come  in.  The 
Tree  was  quite  beautiful,  all  white  candles — 
quantities — shiny  ornaments  and  small  toys,  dolls, 
trumpets,  drums,  and  the  yellow  and  red  bags  of 
"dragees"  hanging  on  the  branches.  It  went 
straight  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  quite  on  top  was  a 
big  gold  star,  the  manufacture  of  which  had  been 
a  source  of  great  tribulation  at  the  chateau.  We 
forgot  to  get  one  in  Paris,  and  sent  in  hot  haste  on 
Wednesday  to  La  Ferte  for  pasteboard  and  gold 
paper;  but,  alas!  none  of  us  could  draw,  and  we 
had  no  model.  I  made  one  or  two  attempts,  with 
anything  but  a  satisfactory  result:  all  the  points 
were  of  different  lengths  and  there  was  nothing 
but  points  (more  like  an  octopus  than  anything 
else).  However,  Pauline  finally  produced  a  very 
good  one  (it  really  looked  like  a  star),  and  of  course 
the  covering  it  with  gold  paper  was  easy.  The 
creche  made  a  great  effect,  standing  at  the  bottom 
of  the  Tree  with  a  tall  candle  on  each  side.     All 

[222] 


«fe««- 


1        'j          0        4- 


All  the  children  in  procession  passed. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

the  big  toys  and  clothes  were  put  on  a  table  behind, 
where  we  all  sat.  Then  the  door  was  opened; 
there  was  a  rush  at  first,  but  the  school-mistress 
kept  strict  order.  The  little  ones  came  first,  their 
eyes  round  and  fixed  on  the  beautiful  Tree;  then 
the  bigger  children,  and  immediately  behind  them 
the  "oldest  inhabitants" — such  a  collection  of  old, 
bent,  wrinkled,  crippled  creatures — then  as  many 
as  could  get  in.  There  wasn't  a  sound  at  first, 
except  some  very  small  babies  crowing  and  choking 
— then  a  sort  of  hum  of  pleasure. 

We  had  two  or  three  recitations  in  parts  from 
the  older  scholars;  some  songs,  and  at  the  end 
the  "compliment,"  the  usual  thing — "Madame  et 
chere  Bienfaitrice,"  said  by  a  small  thing  about 
five  years  old,  speaking  very  fast  and  low,  trying 
to  look  at  me,  but  turning  her  head  always  toward 
the  Tree  and  being  shaken  back  into  her  place  by 
Madame  Isidore.  Then  we  began  the  distribu- 
tion— the  clothes  first,  so  as  not  to  despoil  the  Tree 
too  soon.  The  children  naturally  didn't  take  the 
slightest  interest  in  warm  petticoats  or  tricots,  but 
their  mothers  did. 

We  had  the  little  ones  first,  Francis  giving  to 
the  girls  and  Alice  to  the  boys.  Henrietta  called 
the  names;  Pauline  gave  the  toys  to  our  two,  and 
Madame  Isidore  called  up  each  child.  The  faces 
of  the  children,  when  they  saw  dolls,  trumpets,  etc., 

[223] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

being  taken  off  the  Tree  and  handed  to  each  of 
them,  was  a  thing  to  remember.  The  little  girls 
with  their  dolls  were  too  sweet,  hugging  them  tight 
in  their  little  fat  arms.  One  or  two  of  the  boys 
began  to  blow  softly  on  the  trumpets  and  beat  the 
drums,  and  were  instantly  hushed  up  by  the 
parents;  but  we  said  they  might  make  as  much 
noise  as  they  pleased  for  a  few  moments,  and  a  fine 
"vacarme"  (row)  it  was — ^the  heavy  boots  of  the 
boys  contributing  well  as  they  moved  about  after 
their  trains,  marbles,  etc. 

However,  the  candles  were  burning  low  (they 
only  just  last  an  hour)  and  we  thought  it  was  time 
for  cakes  and  wine.  We  asked  the  children  if  they 
were  pleased,  also  if  each  child  had  garment,  toy, 
and  "dragees,"  and  to  hold  them  up.  There  was 
a  great  scamper  to  the  mothers  to  get  the  clothes, 
and  then  all  the  arms  went  up  with  their  precious 
load. 

The  school-children  passed  first  into  the  outer 
room,  where  the  keepers'  wives  and  our  maids 
were  presiding  over  two  great  bowls  of  hot  wine 
(with  a  great  deal  of  water,  naturally)  and  a  large 
tray  filled  with  brioches.  When  each  child  had  had 
a  drink  and  a  cake  they  went  out,  to  make  room 
for  the  outsiders  and  old  people.  Henrietta  and 
Pauline  distributed  the  "extras";  I  think  there 
were  about  twenty  in  all,  counting  the  babies  in 

[224] 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

arms — also,  of  course,  the  girls  from  La  Ferte  who 
had  come  over  with  the  Sisters  to  sing.  I  talked 
to  some  of  the  old  people.  There  was  one  poor 
old  woman — looked  a  hundred — still  gazing  spell- 
bound at  the  Tree  with  the  candles  dying  out,  and 
most  of  the  ornaments  taken  off.  As  I  came  up  to 
her  she  said :  "  Je  suis  bien  vieille,  mais  je  n'aurais 
jamais  cru  voir  quelque  chose  de  si  beau!  II  me 
semble  que  le  ciel  est  ouvert" — poor  old  thing!  I 
am  so  glad  I  wasn't  sensible,  and  decided  to  give 
them  something  pretty  to  look  at  and  think  about. 
There  was  wine  and  cakes  for  all,  and  then  came 
the  closing  ceremony. 

We  (the  quality)  adjourned  to  the  sitting-room 
of  the  school-mistress  (where  there  were  red  arm- 
chairs and  a  piano),  who  produced  a  bottle  of  better 
wine,  and  then  we  "trinqued"  (touched  glasses) 
with  the  Mayor,  who  thanked  us  in  the  name  of 
the  commune  for  the  beautiful  fete  we  had  made 
for  them.  I  answered  briefly  that  I  was  quite  hap- 
py to  see  them  so  happy,  and  then  we  all  made  a 
rush  for  wraps  and  carriages. 

The  Abbe  came  back  to  the  chateau  to  dine, 
but  he  couldn't  get  away  until  he  had  seen  his 
Sisters  and  harmonium  packed  safely  into  the  big 
omnibus  and  started  for  La  Ferte.  It  looked  so 
pretty  all  the  way  home.  It  was  quite  dark,  and 
the  various  groups  were  struggling  down  the  hill 

[225] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

and  along  the  road,  their  lanterns  making  a  bright 
spot  on  the  snow;  the  little  childish  voices  talking, 
laughing,  and  little  bands  running  backward  and 
forward,  some  disappearing  at  a  turn  of  the  road, 
the  lantern  getting  dimmer,  and  finally  vanishing 
behind  the  trees.  We  went  very  slowly,  as  the 
roads  were  dreadfully  slippery,  and  had  a  running 
escort  all  the  way  to  the  Mill  of  Bourneville,  with 
an  accompaniment  of  drums  and  trumpets.  The 
melancholy  plains  of  the  Valois  were  transformed 
to-night.  In  every  direction  we  saw  little  twinkling 
lights,  as  the  various  bands  separated  and  struck 
oflF  across  the  fields  to  some  lonely  farm  or  mill. 
It  is  a  lonely,  desolate  country — all  great  stretches 
of  fields  and  plains,  with  a  far-away  blue  line  of 
forests.  We  often  drive  for  miles  without  meeting 
a  vehicle  of  any  kind,  and  there  are  such  distances 
between  the  little  hamlets  and  isolated  farms  that 
one  is  almost  uncomfortable  in  the  absolute  soli- 
tude. In  winter  no  one  is  working  in  the  fields 
and  one  never  hears  a  sound;  a  dog's  bark  is  wel- 
come— it  means  life  and  movement  somewhere. 

It  is  quite  the  country  of  the  "haute  culture," 
which  Cherbuliez  wrote  about  in  his  famous  novel, 
"La  Ferme  du  Choquart."  The  farms  are  often 
most  picturesque — have  been  "abbayes"  and  mon- 
asteries. The  massive  round  towers,  great  gate- 
ways, and  arched  windows  still  remain ;   occasion- 

[226] 


There  was  one  pan  old  woman  still  gazing  spellbound. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  VALOIS 

ally,  too,  parts  of  a  solid  wall.  There  is  a  fine 
old  ruin — the  "  Commanderie,"  near  Montigny, 
one  of  our  poor  little  villages.  It  belonged  to  the 
Knights  Templars,  and  is  most  interesting.  The 
chapel  walls  are  still  intact,  and  the  beautiful  roof 
and  high,  narrow  windows.  It  is  now,  alas!  a 
"poulailler"  (chicken-house),  and  turkeys  and 
chickens  are  perched  on  the  rafters  and  great  beams 
that  still  support  the  roof.  The  dwelling-house, 
too,  is  most  interesting  with  its  thick  gray  walls,  high 
narrow  windows,  and  steep  winding  staircase.  I 
was  always  told  there  were  "donjons"  in  the  cel- 
lars, but  I  never  had  the  courage  to  go  down  the 
dark,  damp,  slippery  staircase. 

We  were  quite  glad  to  get  back  to  our  big  draw- 
ing-room with  the  fire  and  the  tea-table;  for  of 
course  the  drawback  to  our  entertainment  was  the 
stuffiness  (not  to  say  bad  smell)  of  the  little  room. 
When  all  the  children  and  grown  people  got  in — 
most  of  them  with  damp  clothes  and  shoes — the 
odour  was  something  awful.  Of  course  no  win- 
dow could  be  opened  on  account  of  the  candles, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  terrible.  At  the  end,  when 
it  was  complicated  with  wine  and  cake  and  all  the 
little  ones'  faces  smeared  with  chocolate  and 
"dragees,"  I  really  don't  know  how  we  stood  it. 

We  had  a  very  cheerful  dinner.  We  compli- 
mented the  Abbe  upon  his  sermon,  which  was 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

really  very  pretty  and  poetical.  He  said  the  chil- 
dren's faces  quite  inspired  him,  and  beyond,  over 
their  heads,  through  the  open  door  he  got  a  glimpse 
of  the  tall  pines  with  their  frosted  heads,  and  could 
almost  fancy  he  saw  the  beautiful  star. 

We  were  all  much  pleased  with  our  first  "  Christ- 
mas in  the  Valois." 


l^9S] 


vn 

A  RACINE  CELEBRATION 

MARExnL-suR-OuROQ,  April  20th,  1899. 

I  COULD  scarcely  believe  I  was  in  our  quiet 
little  town  of  La  Ferte-Milon  to-day.  Such  a 
transformation — flags  flying,  draperies  at  all  the 
windows,  garlands  of  greens  and  flowers  across 
the  streets,  and  a  fine  triumphal  arch — all  greens 
and  flowers  arranged  about  the  centre  of  the 
Grande  Rue.  Many  people  standing  about,  look- 
ing on,  and  making  suggestions;  altogether,  an 
air  de  fete  which  is  most  unusual  in  these  sleepy 
little  streets  where  nothing  ever  passes,  except  at 
four  o'clock,  when  the  three  schools  come  out,  and 
clatter  down  the  street.  The  Ecole  Maternelle 
comes  first,  the  good  Mere  Cecile  bringing  up  the 
rear  of  the  procession,  holding  the  smallest  chil- 
dren, babies  three  and  four  years  old,  by  the 
handj  three  or  four  more  clinging  to  her  skirts, 
and  guiding  them  across  the  perilous  passage  of 
the  bridge  over  the  canal.  It  is  a  pretty  view  from 
the  bridge.     The  canal   (really  the  river  Ourcq, 

[229] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

canalisee),  which  has  preserved  its  current  and 
hasn't  the  dead,  sluggish  look  of  most  canals,  runs 
alongside  of  the  Mail,  a  large  green  place  with 
grass,  big  trees,  a  broad  walk  down  the  centre,  and 
benches  under  the  trees.  It  is  a  sort  of  promenade 
for  the  inhabitants  and  also  serves  as  a  village 
green,  where  all  the  fairs,  shows  and  markets  are 
held.  The  opposite  bank  is  bordered  by  quaint 
old  houses,  with  round  towers  and  gardens,  full  of 
bright  flowers,  running  down  to  the  water's  edge. 
There  is  one  curious  old  colombier  which  has  been 
there  for  centuries;  near  the  bridge  there  is  a 
lavoir,  where  there  are  always  women  washing. 
They  are  all  there  to-day,  but  much  distracted, 
wildly  interested  in  all  that  is  going  on — and  the 
unwonted  stir  in  the  streets;  chattering  hard,  and 
giving  their  opinions  as  to  the  decoration  of  the 
arch,  which  is  evidently  a  source  of  great  pride 
to  the  town. 

On  a  bright  sunny  day,  when  the  red  roofs  and 
flowers  are  reflected  in  the  water,  and  it  is  not  too 
cold,  their  work  doesn't  seem  very  hard ;  but  on  a 
winter  afternoon,  when  they  have  to  break  the  ice 
sometimes,  and  a  biting  wind  is  blowing  down  the 
canal,  it  is  pitiable  to  see  the  poor  things  thinly 
clad,  shivering  and  damp;  their  hands  and  arms 
red  and  chapped  with  cold.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge,   the   canal   wanders   peacefully  along 

[230] 


A  RACINE  CELEBRATION 

through  endless  green  meadows,  bordered  with 
poplars,  to  MaroUes,  a  little  village  where  there 
is  the  first  eeluse  on  the  way  to  Paris. 

We  had  been  talking  vaguely  all  winter  of  do- 
ing something  at  La  Ferte-Milon  to  feter  the  bi- 
centenaire  of  Racine.  They  were  making  prepara- 
tions at  Paris,  also  at  Port  Royal,  and  it  seemed 
hard  to  do  nothing  in  his  native  place.  His 
statue  in  the  Grande  Rue  is  one  of  the  glories  of 
La  Ferte. 

Jean  Racine  was  born  in  La  Ferte  in  1639.  He 
lost  both  father  and  mother  young,  and  was 
brought  up  by  his  grandparents.  He  was  sent 
first  to  school  at  Beauvais,  later,  while  still  quite 
a  youth,  to  Port  Royal.  His  stay  there  influenced 
considerably  his  character  and  his  writings;  and 
though  he  separated  himself  entirely  from  the 
"Solitaires"  during  the  years  of  his  brilliant  career 
as  poet  and  courtier,  there  remained  always  in  his 
heart  a  latent  tenderness  for  the  quiet  green  valley 
of  the  Chevreuse,  where  he  had  passed  all  his 
years  of  adolescence,  listening  to  the  good  Fathers, 
and  imbibing  their  doctrines  of  the  necessity  of 
divine  grace  to  complete  the  character.  His  mas- 
ters were  horrified  and  distressed  when  his  talent 
developed  into  plays,  which  brought  him  into 
contact  with  actors  and  actresses,  and  made  him  an 
habitue  of  a  frivolous  Court. 

[231] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

There  is  a  pretty  letter  from  one  of  his  aunts,  a 
religieuse  de  Port  Royal,  begging  him  to  keep  away 
from  "des  frequentations  abominables,"  and  to 
return  to  a  Christian  life. 

His  career  was  rapid  and  brilliant.  He  was 
named  to  the  Academie  Fran9aise  in  1673,  and 
when  he  retired  from  the  theatre  was  a  welcome 
and  honoured  guest  at  the  most  brilliant  court 
of  the  world.  He  was  made  private  historian  to 
the  King  and  accompanied  him  on  various  cam- 
paigns. There  are  amusing  mentions  of  the  poets- 
historians  (Boileau  was  also  royal  historian)  in 
the  writings  of  their  contemporaries,  "les  messieurs 
du  sublime,"  much  embarrassed  with  their  military 
accoutrements  and  much  fatigued  by  the  unwonted 
exercise  and  long  days  on  horseback.  The  King 
showed  Racine  every  favour.  He  was  lodged  at 
Versailles  and  at  Marly  and  was  called  upon  to 
amuse  and  distract  the  monarch  when  the  cares  of 
state  and  increasing  years  made  all  diversions  pall 
upon  him.  He  saw  the  decline  and  disgrace  of 
Madame  de  Montespan,  the  marvellous  good  for- 
tune of  Madame  de  Maintenon.  His  famous 
tragedies  of  Esther  and  Athalie  were  written  at 
Madame  de  Maintenon 's  request  for  her  special 
institution  of  St.  Cyr,  and  the  performances  were 
honoured  by  the  presence  of  the  King.  Racine 
himself  directed  the  rehearsals  and  the  music  was 

[232] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

composed  by  Jean  Baptiste  Moreau,  organist  of 
St.  Cyr.  The  youthful  actresses  showed  wonder- 
ful aptitude  in  interpreting  the  passionate,  tender 
verses  of  the  poet.  Young  imaginations  worked 
and  jealousies  and  rivalries  ran  high.  After  a 
certain  number  of  representations  Mme.  de  Main- 
tenon  was  obliged  to  suspend  the  performances  in 
public,  with  costumes  and  music.  The  plays  were 
only  given  in  private  at  the  Maison  de  St.  Cyr;  the 
young  scholars  playing  in  the  dress  of  the  estab- 
lishment. He  made  his  peace  with  Port  Royal 
before  he  died.  He  submitted  Phedre  to  his 
former  masters  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  being 
received  again  by  the  "Grand  Amauld,"*  who 
had  been  deeply  offended  by  his  ingratitude  and 
his  criticisms  and  ridicule  of  many  of  his  early 
friends  and  protectors.  He  asked  to  be  buried 
there,  and  his  body  remained  until  the  destruc- 
tion and  devastation  of  Port  Royal,  when  it 
was  removed  to  Paris  and  placed  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Etienne  des  Monts. 


*"Le  Grand  Amauld"  (Antoine),  one  of  the  first  and  most  in- 
fluential of  the  celebrattid  "Solitaires"  who  established  themselves  at 
Port  Royal,  and  one  of  the  founders  of  the  famoUs  sect  of  Jansenists 
whose  controversies  with  the  Jesuits  convulsed  the  whble  religious 
world  in  Frande  during  the  years  1662-1668.  He  was  foUo'wed  in 
his  retreat  by  his  mother  (aftfer  the  husband's  death),  his  brother  and 
foUr  sisters,  one  of  whom  became  the  "Mfere  AngeliqUe,"  Abbesse  of 
Port  Royal. 

[233] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

He  returned  many  times  to  La  Ferte-Milon,  and 
the  great  poet  and  private  historian  of  the  Roi 
Soleil  must  often  have  climbed  the  steep  little 
street  that  leads  to  the  ruins,  and  thought  of  the 
changes,  since  the  little  boy  lay  on  the  grass  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  walls,  dreaming  golden  dreams 
of  the  future,  which  for  him  were  so  brilliantly 
realised. 

In  a  small  country  town  one  is  slow  to  adopt 
new  ideas,  slower  still  to  carry  them  out,  but  the 
Mayor  and  cure  were  both  most  anxious  to  do 
something  in  the  birthplace  of  the  poet,  and  that 
was  the  general  feeling  in  the  Department.  After 
many  discussions  we  finally  arrived  at  a  solution, 
or  at  least  we  decided  what  we  wanted:  a  special 
service  in  the  fine  old  church  of  Notre  Dame, 
which  stands  beautifully  on  the  hill,  close  to  the 
ruins;  a  representation  of  the  Comedie  Fran9aise, 
and  of  course  a  banquet  at  the  Sauvage,  with  all 
the  oflBcial  world,  senators,  Prefet,  Academiciens 
— a  band  of  music,  a  torchlight  procession,  and  as 
many  distinguished  visitors  as  we  could  get  hold 
of.  Funds  of  course  were  a  necessary  item,  but 
all  the  countryside  contributed  largely,  and  we 
knew  that  the  artists  would  give  their  services 
gratis. 

We  arranged  a  breakfast  at  my  house  in  Paris 
with  Mons.  Casimir-Perier,  late  President  of  the  Re- 

[  234  ] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

public,  who  was  always  ready  to  lend  his  influence 
for  anything  that  interests  the  people,  and  teaches 
them  something  of  their  great  men,  and  Mons. 
Claretie,  Directeur  of  the  Comedie  Fran9aise,  a 
most  cultivated,  charming  man.  He  is  generally 
rather  chary  of  letting  his  pensionnaires  play  en 
province,  but  this  really  was  an  occasion  to  break 
through  his  rules,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to  help 
us  in  every  way.  We  had  also  M.  Sebline,  Senator 
of  the  Aisne,  and  I'Abbe  Marechal,  cure  of  La  Ferte- 
Milon.  We  had  wanted  one  of  the  Administra- 
teurs  of  the  Chemin  de  Fer  du  Nord  to  arrange 
about  a  free  transport  for  the  actors,  but  there 
seemed  some  trouble  about  getting  hold  of  the 
right  man,  and  Sebline  promised  to  see  about 
that. 

The  Abbe  Marechal  and  I  were  very  ambitious 
for  the  theatrical  part  of  the  entertainment  and 
had  views  of  Esther  with  the  costumes,  and 
choruses  of  Moreau,  but  M.  Claretie  said  that 
would  be  impossible.  It  was  diflScult  enough  to 
arrange  in  Paris  with  all  the  singers,  instruments, 
and  costumes  at  hand — and  would  be  impossible 
in  the  country  with  our  modest  resources.  I  think 
the  idea  of  a  tent  on  a  village  green  rather  frightened 
him;  and  he  didn't  quite  see  the  elite  of  his  com- 
pany playing  in  such  a  cadre — no  decor — and 
probably  very  bad  acoustics.     However,  Sebline 

[235] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

reassured  him.  He  knew  the  tent  and  its  capa- 
bilities, having  seen  it  figure  on  various  occasions, 
cornices  agricoles,  banquets  de  pompiers,  at  village 
fetes  generally,  and  said  it  could  be  arranged  quite 
well. 

We  discussed  many  programmes,  but  finally 
accepted  whatever  M.  Claretie  would  give — an  act 
of  "  Les  Plaideurs,"  and  two  or  three  of  "  Berenice," 
with  Mme.  Bartet,  who  is  charming  in  that  role. 
The  Abbe  Marechal  undertook  the  music  in  his 
church,  and  I  was  sure  he  would  succeed  in  having 
some  of  the  choruses  of  Esther.  His  heart  was 
quite  set  on  it.  Once  he  had  settled  our  pro- 
gramme, the  conversation  drifted  away  from  the 
purely  local  talk,  and  was  brilliant  enough.  All 
the  men  were  clever  and  good  talkers,  and  all  well 
up  in  Racine,  his  career,  and  the  various  phases 
of  his  work. 

From  the  classics  we  got  into  modern  plays  and 
poets,  and  there  of  course  the  differences  of  opinion 
were  wide;  but  I  think  the  general  public  (people 
in  the  upper  galleries)  like  better  when  they  go  to 
the  Fran9aise  to  see  a  classic  piece — Roman  emper- 
ors and  soldiers,  and  vestal  virgins  and  barbarians 
in  chains — and  to  listen  to  their  long  tirades.  The 
modern  light  comedy,  even  when  it  treats  of  the 
vital  subjects  of  the  day,  seems  less  in  its  place  in 
those  old  walls.     I  quite  understand  one  couldn't 

[236] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

see  Britannicus,*  Mithridate,  nor  the  Cid  every 
evening. 

We  came  down  here  several  times  to  see  how 
things  were  getting  on,  and  always  found  the  little 
town  quite  feverishly  animated.  We  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  band  of  the  regiment  stationed 
at  Soissons.  I  wrote  to  the  Colonel,  who  said  he 
would  send  it  with  pleasure,  but  that  he  couldn't 
on  his  own  authority.  An  application  must  be 
made  to  the  Ministere  de  la  Guerre.  There  is 
always  so  much  red  tape  in  France.  One  writes 
and  receives  so  many  letters  about  anything  one 
wants  to  do — a  Christmas  Tree  in  the  school-house 
— a  distribution  of  soup  for  the  poor  and  old — a 
turn  in  a  road  to  be  rounded,  etc.  However,  the 
permission  was  graciously  accorded  for  the  band. 
The  Mayor's  idea  was  to  station  it  on  the  Mail, 
where  quantities  of  people  would  congregate  who 
couldn't  get  into  the  church  or  the  tent. 

We  went  one  day  to  have  tea  with  the  Abbe 
Marechal  in  his  nice  old  presbytere;    the  salon 

*I  remember  so  well  our  cousin  Arthur's  description  of  his  holidays 
spent  at  his  grandmother's  chateau.  Every  evening  they  read  aloud 
some  classical  piece.  When  he  had  read  Britannicus  twice  (the 
second  time  to  appreciate  more  fully  the  beauties  which  were  lightly 
passed  over  at  first),  he  rebelled,  had  a  migraine,  or  a  sore  throat, 
something  which  prevented  his  appearing  in  the  drawing-room  after 
dinner;  and  he  and  his  cousins  attired  themselves  in  sheets,  and  stood 
on  the  comer  of  the  wall  where  the  diligence  made  a  sharp  turn,  fright- 
ening the  driver  and  his  horses  out  of  their  wits. 

[237] 


A^ 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

opening  out  on  a  large,  old-fashioned  garden  with 
fine  trees,  and  a  view  of  the  church  towers  in  the 
distance.  He  was  quite  pleased  with  all  that  he 
had  arranged  for  his  church  service.  One  of  his 
friends.  Abbe  Vignon,  a  most  interesting  man  and 
eloquent  preacher,  promised  to  deliver  a  lecture 
on  Racine  from  the  pulpit;  and  M.  Vincent  dTndy, 
the  distinguished  composer  and  leader  of  the 
modern  school  of  music,  undertook  the  music  with 
Mme.  Jeanne  Maunay  as  singer;  he  himself  pre- 
siding at  the  organ. 

I  tried  to  persuade  the  proprietors  of  all  the 
chateaux  in  the  neighbourhood  to  come,  but  I 
can't  say  I  had  much  success.  Some  had  gout — 
some  had  mourning.  I  don't  remember  if  any 
one  "had  married  a  wife  and  therefore  couldn't 
come." 

However,  we  shall  fill  our  own  house,  and  give 
breakfast  and  dinner  to  any  one  who  will  come. 
To-day  we  have  been  wandering  about  on  the 
green  near  the  ruins,  trying  to  find  some  place 
where  we  can  give  our  friends  tea.  The  service 
in  the  church  will  certainly  be  long,  and  before 
the  theatrical  performance  begins  we  should  like 
to  arrange  a  little  gouter — but  where.?  It  is  too 
far  to  go  back  to  our  house,  and  the  Sauvage,  our 
usual  resort,  will  be  packed  on  that  day,  and  quite 
ofiE  its  head,  as  they  have  two  banquets  morning 

[  238  ] 


A  RACINE  CELEBRATION 

and  evening.  The  "Cafe  des  Ruines,"  a  dirty 
little  place  just  under  the  great  walls  of  the  chateau, 
didn't  look  inviting;  but  there  was  literally  nothing 
else,  so  we  interviewed  the  proprietor,  went  in  to 
the  big  room  down  stairs,  which  was  perfectly  im- 
possible, reeking  with  smoke,  and  smelling  of 
cheap  liquor;  but  he  told  us  he  had  a  "tres  belle 
salle"  up  stairs,  where  we  should  be  quite  alone. 
We  climbed  up  a  dark,  rickety  little  turning  stair- 
case, and  found  ourselves  in  quite  a  good  room, 
with  three  large  windows  on  the  green;  the  walls 
covered  with  pictures  from  the  cheap  illustrated 
papers,  and  on  the  whole  not  too  dirty.  We  have 
taken  it  for  the  afternoon,  told  the  patron  we  would 
come  to-morrow,  put  up  tables,  and  make  as  many 
preparations  as  we  could  for  the  great  day.  He 
was  very  anxious  to  furnish  something — some  "vin 
du  pays;"  but  we  told  him  all  we  wanted  was  fire, 
plenty  of  hot  water,  and  a  good  scrubbing  of  floor 
and  windows. 

It  is  enchanting  this  afternoon.  We  are  taking 
advantage  of  the  fine  weather  to  drive  about  the 
country,  and  show  our  friends  some  of  our  big 
farms  and  quaint  little  villages.  They  look  ex- 
actly as  they  did  a  hundred  years  ago,  "when 
the  Cossacks  were  here,"  as  they  say  in  the  country. 
Some  of  the  inns  have  still  kept  their  old-fashioned 
signs   and  names.     Near  May,   on  the  road  to 

|j£39] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

Meaux,  Bossuet's  fine  old  cathedral  town,  there 
IS  a  nice  old  square  red-brick  house,  "L'Auberge 
du  Veau  qui  Tete  (The  Inn  of  the  Sucking  Calf) , 
which  certainly  indicates  that  this  is  great  farm- 
ing country.  There  are  quantities  of  big  white 
oxen,  cows,  and  horses  in  the  fields,  but  the  roads 
are  solitary.  One  never  meets  anything  except 
on  market  day.  The  Florians  who  live  in  Seine 
et  Marne,  which  is  thickly  populated — villages 
and  chateaux  close  together — were  much  struck 
with  the  loneliness  and  great  stretches  of  wood 
and  plain. 

We  are  praying  for  fine  weather,  as  rain  would 
be  disastrous.  The  main  street  looks  really  charm- 
ing. The  green  arch  is  nearly  finished,  and  at 
night,  when  everything  is  illuminated,  will  be  most 
eflPective. 

22nd.  It  rained  yesterday  afternoon  and  all 
night — ^not  light  April  showers,  but  a  good,  steady 
downpour.  Francis  and  Ctesse.  de  Gontaut  ar- 
rived from  Paris  in  his  little  open  automobile. 
Such  a  limp,  draggled  female  as  emerged  from  the 
little  carriage  I  never  saw.  They  had  had  some 
sharp  showers ;  pannes  (breakdowns) ,  too,  and  she 
says  she  pushed  the  carriage  up  all  the  hills.  She 
didn't  seem  either  tired  or  cross,  and  looked  quite 
bright  and  rested  when  she  reappeared  at  dinner. 

[240] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

Various  friends  arrived  this  morning,  and  we 
have  been  in  La  Fert^  all  the  afternoon.  The 
draperies  and  festoons  of  flowers  don't  look  any 
the  worse  for  the  heavy  rain,  and  at  least  it  is 
over,  and  we  shall  probably  have  sun  to-morrow. 
The  tent  is  up  on  the  green,  and  looks  fairly  large. 
I  don't  think  any  one  will  see  anything  except 
in  the  first  eight  or  ten  rows  of  chairs,  but  it  seems 
they  will  all  hear.  The  stage  was  being  arranged, 
and,  much  to  our  amusement,  they  told  us  the 
Empire  chairs  and  tables  had  been  lent  by  the 
Abbe  Marechal.  He  is  a  coUectionneur,  and  has 
some  handsome  furniture.  We  inspected  our  tea- 
room, which  didn't  look  too  bad.  Our  men  were 
there  with  tables,  china,  etc.,  and  when  it  is  all 
arranged  we  shall  have  quite  a  respectable  buflFet. 
The  landlord  was  very  anxious  to  decorate  the 
tables  with  greens,  flags,  and  perhaps  a  bust  of 
Racine  with  a  crown  of  laurels,  but  we  told  him 
it  would  be  better  not  to  complicate  things. 

The  view  was  lovely  to-day  from  the  top  of  the 
hill — the  ruins  looking  enormous,  standing  out 
against  the  bright  blue  sky,  and  soft  and  pink  at 
the  top  where  the  outline  was  irregular  and  the 
walls  crumbling  a  little.  We  had  some  difficulty 
in  collecting  our  party,  and  finally  discovered 
Francis,  Ctesse.  de  Gontaut  and  Christiani  having 
chocolate  and  cakes   in  the  back  parlour  of  the 

[241] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

grocer's  shop  (nothing  like  equality  on  these  oc- 
casions), who  was  telling  them  all  the  little  gossip 
of  the  town,  and  naming  the  radicals  who  wouldn't 
go  to  the  church. 

We  had  a  pleasant  evening  with  music  and 
"baraque" — which  is  not  very  fatiguing  as  a 
mental  exercise.  I  tried  to  send  all  the  party  to 
bed  early,  and  have  come  upstairs  myself,  but  I 
still  hear  the  click  of  the  billiard  balls,  and  sounds 
of  merriment  downstairs.  It  is  a  splendid  star- 
light night,  the  sky  quite  blue  over  the  pines.  I 
think  we  shall  have  beautiful  weather  for  our 
fete.  I  have  very  vague  ideas  as  to  how  many 
people  we  shall  have  for  breakfast  and  dinner 
to-morrow,  but  the  "office"  is  warned.  I  hope 
we  shan't  starve. 

April  24th.     Monday. 

We  had  a  beautiful  and  most  successful  day 
yesterday.  All  the  household  was  stirring  fairly 
early,  as  we  had  to  get  ourselves  in  to  La  Ferte 
before  12  o'clock.  We  started  in  all  sorts  of  con- 
veyances— train,  carriage,  voiturette — and  found 
the  Grande  Rue  full  of  people.  The  official  break- 
fast was  over,  also  the  visit  to  the  Mairie,  where 
there  are  a  few  souvenirs  of  the  poet — his  picture, 
acte  de  naissance,*  and  signature.     The  proces- 

*  Birth  certificate. 
[  242  ] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

sion  was  just  forming  to  climb  up  the  steep,  little 
street  that  leads  to  the  church,  so  we  took  a  short 
cut  (still  steeper),  and  waited  outside  the  doors  to 
see  them  arrive.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the 
cortege  wind  up  the  path — the  Bishop  of  Soissons 
and  several  other  ecclesiastics  in  their  robes,  black- 
coated  officials,  some  uniforms — the  whole  es- 
corted by  groups  of  children  running  alongside, 
and  a  fair  sprinkling  of  women  in  light  dresses, 
with  flowers  on  their  hats,  making  patches  of 
colour.  The  church  was  crowded — one  didn't  re- 
mark the  absence  of  certain  "esprits  forts"  who 
gloried  in  remaining  outside —  and  the  service  was 
most  interesting.  The  lecture  or  rather  "Eloge  de 
Racine"  was  beautifully  given  by  the  Abbe  Vignot. 
It  was  not  very  easy  for  a  priest  to  pronounce  from 
the  pulpit  an  eulogium  on  the  poet  and  dramatic 
author  who  had  strayed  so  far  from  the  paths  of 
grace  and  the  early  teachings  of  Port  Royal,  where 
the  "petit  Racine"  had  been  looked  upon  as  a 
model  pupil  destined  to  rise  high  in  the  ecclesias- 
tical world;  but  the  orator  made  us  see  through 
the  sombre  tragedies  of  Phedre,  Britannicus  and 
others  the  fine  nature  of  the  poet,  who  understood 
so  humanly  the  passions  that  tempt  and  warp  the 
soul,  and  showed  a  spirit  of  tolerance  very  remark- 
able in  those  days.  He  dwelt  less  upon  the 
courtier;  spoke  more  of  the  Christian  of  his  last 

[  243  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

days.  He  certainly  lent  to  the  "charm  of  the  poet, 
the  beauty  of  his  voice,"  for  it  was  impossible  to 
hear  anything  more  perfect  than  the  intonation 
and  diction  of  the  speaker. 

There  was  a  short  address  from  Monseigneur 
Deramecourt,  Bishop  of  Soissons — a  stately  figure 
seated  on  the  Episcopal  throne  in  the  chancel. 
The  music  was  quite  beautiful.  We  had  the 
famous  "Chanteurs  de  St.  Gervais,"  and  part  of 
the  choeurs  d'Esther,  composed  by  Moreau,  and 
sung  in  splendid  style  by  Mme.  Jeanne  Maunay, 
M.  Vincent  dTndy  accompanying  on  the  organ. 
The  simple  sixteenth  century  chaunts  sung  by  the 
St.  Gervais  choir  sounded  splendidly  in  the  fine 
old  cathedral.  The  tones  seemed  fuller  and  richer 
than  in  their  Paris  church. 

We  went  out  a  little  before  the  end  to  see  what 
was  going  on  on  the  green.  It  was  still  quite  a 
climb  from  the  church,  and  all  the  people  of  the 
upper  town  had  turned  out  to  see  the  sight.  It  is 
quite  a  distinct  population  from  the  lower  town. 
They  are  all  canal  hands,  and  mostly  a  very  bad 
lot.  The  men  generally  drink — not  enough  to  be 
really  intoxicated  (one  rarely  sees  that  in  France), 
but  enough  to  make  them  quarrelsome;  and  the 
women  almost  all  slatternly  and  idle.  They  were 
standing  at  thei^  doors,  babies  in  their  arms,  and 
troops  of  dirty,  ragged,  pretty  little  children  playing 

[244] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

on  the  road,  and  accompanying  us  to  the  green, 
begging  for  *'un  petit  sou." 

We  saw  the  cortege  winding  down  again,  the 
robes  and  banners  of  the  clergy  making  a  great 
effect,  and  we  heard  in  the  distance  the  strains  of 
the  military  band  stationed  on  the  Mail — echoes 
of  the  Marseillaise  and  the  "Pere  la  Victoire" 
making  a  curious  contrast  to  the  old-world  music 
we  had  just  been  listening  to  in  the  church.  Our 
party  scattered  a  little.  Francis  went  down  to 
the  station  with  his  auto  to  get  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  d'Albufera,  who  had  promised  to  come 
for  the  Comedie  and  dinner.  They  are  neigh- 
bours, and  have  a  beautiful  place  not  very  far  off 
— Montgobert,  in  the  heart  of  the  Villers-Cotteret 
forest.  He  is  a  descendant  of  Suchet,  one  of 
Napoleon's  Marshals,  and  they  have  a  fine  picture 
of  the  Marshal  in  uniform,  and  various  souvenirs 
of  the  Emperor.  Francis  had  some  difficulty  in 
making  his  way  through  the  Grande  Rue  which  was 
packed  with  people  very  unwilling  to  let  any 
vehicle  pass.  However,  they  had  a  certain  cu- 
riosity about  the  little  carriage,  which  is  the  first  one 
to  appear  in  this  part  of  the  country — where  one 
sees  only  farmers'  gigs  on  two  high  wheels,  or  a 
tapissiere,  a  covered  carriage  for  one  horse.  How- 
ever, as  every  one  knew  him  they  were  good  natured 
enough,  and  let  him  pass,  but  he  could  not  get  any 

[245] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

further  than  the  foot  of  the  street — too  steep  for 
any  carriage  to  venture. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  as  we  got  to  the  Place. 
Quantities  of  people  walking  about — many  evident 
strangers,  seeing  the  ruins  for  the  first  time.  There 
was  a  band  of  schoolboys,  about  twenty,  with  a 
priest,  much  excited.  They  wanted  to  go  in  the 
tent  and  get  good  places,  but  were  afraid  of  missing 
something  outside,  and  were  making  little  excur- 
sions in  every  direction,  evidently  rather  worrying 
their  Director.  The  tent,  fairly  large,  looked  small 
under  the  shadow  of  the  great  walls.  We  looked 
in  and  found  a  good  many  people  already  in  their 
places,  and  saw  that  the  first  two  or  three  rows 
of  red  arm-chairs  were  being  kept  for  the  quality. 
One  of  the  sights  was  our  two  tall  men  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  rather  dirty,  dilapidated  "Cafe 
des  Ruines,"  piloting  our  friends  past  the  groups 
of  workmen  smoking  and  drinking  in  the  porch, 
and  up  the  dark,  rickety  staircase.  I  don't  think 
any  one  would  have  had  the  courage  to  go  up,  if 
Henrietta  hadn't  led  the  way — once  up,  the  effect 
of  our  banqueting-hall  was  not  bad.  The  servants 
had  made  it  look  very  well  with  china  and  silver 
brought  from  the  house,  also  three  or  four  fresh 
pictures  taken  from  the  illustrated  papers  to  cover 
those  which  already  existed,  and  which  looked 
rather  the  worse  for  smoke  and  damp.     We  were 

[  246  ] 


A  RACINE  CELEBRATION 

actually  obliged  to  cover  General  Boulanger  and 
his  famous  black  charger  with  a  **  Bois  de  Boulogne 
le  Matin,"  with  carriages,  riders,  bicycles,  pretty 
women  and  children  strolling  about. 

The  view  from  the  windows  was  charming,  and 
it  was  amusing  to  watch  all  the  people  toiling  up 
the  path.  We  recognised  many  friends,  and  made 
frantic  signs  to  them  to  come  and  have  tea.  We 
had  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  before  the 
Comedie  began,  and  when  we  got  to  the  tent  it 
was  crowded — all  the  dignitaries — Bishop,  Prefet, 
Senator,  Deputy  (he  didn't  object  to  the  theatrical 
performance),  M.  Henri  Houssaye,  Academician; 
M.  Roujon,  Directeur  des  Beaux  Arts,  sitting  in 
the  front  row  in  their  red  arm-chairs,  and  making 
quite  as  much  of  a  show  for  the  villagers  as  the 
actors. 

The  performance  began  with  the  third  act  of 
"Les  Plaideurs,"  played  with  extraordinary  en- 
train. There  were  roars  of  laughter  all  through 
the  salle,  or  tent — none  more  amused  than  the 
band  of  schoolboys,  and  their  youthful  enjoyment 
was  quite  contagious.  People  turned  to  look  at 
them,  and  it  was  evident  that,  if  they  didn't  see, 
they  heard,  as  they  never  missed  a  point — probably 
knew  it  all  by  heart.  Then  came  a  recitation  by 
Mile.  Moreno,  who  looked  and  spoke  like  a  tragic 
muse  the  remorse  and  suflFering  of  Phedre.     The 

[247] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

end  of  the  performance — the  two  last  acts  of 
Berenice — was  enchanting.  Mme.  Bartet  looked 
charming  in  her  floating  blue  draperies,  and  was 
the  incarnation  of  the  resigned,  poetic,  loving 
woman;  Paul  Mounet  was  a  grand,  sombre,  pas- 
sionate Titus,  torn  between  his  love  for  the 
beautiful  Queen  and  his  duty  as  a  Roman  to  choose 
only  one  of  his  own  people  to  share  his  throne 
and  honours.  The  Roman  Senate  was  an  all- 
powerful  body,  and  a  woman's  love  too  slight  a 
thing  to  oppose  to  it.  Bartet  was  charming  all 
through,  either  in  her  long  plaintes  to  her  Confi- 
dante, where  one  felt  that  in  spite  of  her  repeated 
assurances  of  her  lover's  tenderness  there  was 
always  the  doubt  of  the  Emperor's  faith  or  in 
her  interviews  with  Titus — reproaching  him  and 
adoring  him,  with  all  the  magic  of  her  voice 
and  smile.  It  was  a  triumph  for  them  both,  and 
their  splendid  talent.  With  no  decor,  no  room, 
no  scenic  illusions  of  any  kind,  they  held  their 
audience  enthralled.  No  one  minded  the  heat, 
nor  the  crowd,  nor  the  uncomfortable  seats,  and 
all  were  sorry  when  the  well-known  lines,  said  by 
Mme.  Bartet,  in  her  beautiful,  clear,  pathetic 
voice 

*'Servons  tous  trois  d*exemple  a  rUnivers 
De  ramour  la  plus  tendre  et  la  plus  malheureuse 
Dont  il  puisse  garder  I'histoire  douloureuse," 
[  248  ] 


A  RACINE   CELEBRATION 

brought  to  a  close  the  fierce  struggle  between  love 
and  ambition. 

As  soon  as  it  was  over,  I  went  with  Sebline  to 
compliment  the  actors.  We  found  Bartet,  not  in 
her  dressing-room,  but  standing  outside,  still  in 
her  costume,  very  busy  photographing  Mounet, 
superb  as  a  Roman  Emperor.  He  was  posing 
most  impatiently,  watching  the  sun  slowly  sinking 
behind  the  ruins,  as  he  wanted  to  photograph 
Berenice  before  the  light  failed,  and  the  time  was 
short.  They  were  surrounded  by  an  admiring 
crowd,  the  children  much  interested  in  the  *' beau- 
tiful lady  with  the  stars  all  over  her  dress."  We 
waited  a  few  moments,  and  had  a  little  talk  with 
them.  They  said  the  fete  had  interested  them 
very  much  and  they  were  very  glad  to  have  come. 
They  were  rather  taken  aback  at  first  when  they 
saw  the  tent,  the  low  small  stage,  and  the  very 
elementary  scenery — were  afraid  the  want  of  space 
would  bother  them,  but  they  soon  felt  that  they 
held  their  audience,  and  that  their  voices  carried 
perfectly.  They  were  rather  hurried,  as  they  were 
all  taking  the  train  back  to  Paris,  except  Bartet, 
who  had  promised  to  stay  for  the  banquet.  I  had 
half  hoped  she  would  come  to  me,  but  of  course 
I  was  obliged  to  waive  my  claim.  When  I  saw 
how  much  the  Prefet  and  the  official  world  held 
to  having  her — when  I  heard  afterwards  that  she 

[  249  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

had  had  the  seat  of  honour  next  to  the  Bishop  I 
was  very  glad  I  hadn't  insisted,  as  she  certainly 
doesn't  often  have  the  opportunity  of  sitting  next 
to  a  Bishop.     It  seems  he  was  delighted  with  her. 

We  loitered  about  some  little  time,  talking  to  all 
our  friends.  The  view  from  the  terrace  was  beau- 
tiful— directly  at  our  feet  the  little  town,  which  is 
literally  two  streets  forming  a  long  cross,  the 
Grande  Rue  a  streak  of  light  and  color,  filled  with 
people  moving  about,  and  the  air  alive  with  laugh- 
ter and  music.  Just  beyond,  the  long  stretches  of 
green  pasture  lands,  cut  every  now  and  then  by 
narrow  lanes  with  apple  trees  and  hawthorn  in 
flower,  and  the  canal  winding  along  between  the 
green  walls  of  poplars — the  whole  hemmed  in  by 
the  dark  blue  line  of  the  Villers-Cotteret  forest, 
which  makes  a  grand  sweep  on  the  horizon. 

It  was  lovely  driving  back  to  Mareuil,  toward 
the  bright  sunset  clouds.  We  had  a  gay  dinner 
and  evening.  I  never  dared  ask  where  the  various 
men  dressed  who  came  to  dinner.  The  house  is 
not  very  large,  and  every  room  was  occupied — 
but  as  they  all  appeared  most  correctly  attired,  I 
suppose  there  are  resources  in  the  way  of  lingerie 
and  fumoir  which  are  available  at  such  times,  and 
Francis's  valet  de  chambre  is  so  accustomed  to 
having  more  people  than  the  house  can  hold  that 
he  probably  took  his  precautions. 

[250] 


A  RACINE  CELEBRATION 

Francis  started  off  for  the  banquet  at  the  Sau- 
vage  in  his  voiturette,  but  that  long-suffering  vehicle 
having  made  hundreds  of  kilometres  these  last 
days,  came  to  grief  at  the  foot  of  *'la  Montague  de 
MaroUes,"  and  he  was  towed  back  by  a  friendly 
carter  and  arrived  much  disgusted  when  we  were 
half  through  dinner. 

We  heard  all  the  details  of  the  dinner  from  the 
Abbe  Marechal.  Certainly  the  banqueting  hall  of 
the  Sauvage  will  not  soon  again  see  such  a  bril- 
liant assembly.  Madame  Bartet  was  the  Queen  of 
the  Fete,  and  sat  between  the  Bishop  and  the 
Prefet.  There  were  some  pretty  speeches  from  M. 
Henri  Houssaye,  M.  Roujon — and  of  course  the 
toast  of  the  President  accompanied  by  the  Mar- 
seillaise. 

The  departure  to  the  train  was  most  amusing — 
all  the  swells,  including  Bartet,  walking  in  the 
cortege,  escorted  by  a  torch-light  procession,  and 
surrounded  by  the  entire  population  of  La  Ferte. 

The  Grande  Rue  was  illuminated  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  red  Bengal  lights  throwing  out  splen- 
didly the  grand  old  chateau  and  the  towers  of 
Notre  Dame. 


[251] 


vin 

A  CORNER   OF   NORMANDY 

Bagnoles  de   l'Orne,  July-August. 

IT  IS  lovely  looking  out  of  my  window  this  morn- 
ing, so  green  and  cool  and  quiet.  I  had  my 
petit  dejeuner  on  my  balcony,  a  big  tree  in  the  gar- 
den making  perfect  shade  and  a  wealth  of  green 
wood  and  meadow  in  every  direction,  so  resting  to 
the  eyes  after  the  Paris  asphalt.  It  seems  a  very 
quiet  little  place.  Scarcely  anything  passing — a 
big  omnibus  going,  I  suppose,  to  the  baths,  and 
a  butcher's  cart.  For  the  last  ten  minutes  I  have 
been  watching  a  nice-looking  sunburned  girl  with 
a  big  straw  hat  tied  dqwn  over  her  ears,  who  is 
vainly  endeavouring  to  get  her  small  donkey-cart, 
piled  high  with  fruit  and  vegetables,  up  a  slight 
incline  to  the  gate  of  a  villa  just  opposite.  She  has 
been  struggling  for  some  time,  pulling,  talking, 
and  red  with  the  exertion.  One  or  two  workmen 
have  come  to  her  assistance,  but  they  can't  do  any- 
thing either.     The  donkey's  mind   is  made  up. 

[252] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

There  is  an  animated  conversation — I  am  too  high 
up  to  hear  what  they  say.  Finally  she  leaves  her 
cart,  ties  up  her  fruit  in  her  apron,  balances  a  basket 
of  eggs  with  one  hand  on  her  head,  and  disappears 
into  the  garden  behind  the  gate.  No  one  comes 
along  and  the  cart  is  quite  unmolested.  I  think  I 
should  have  gone  down  myself  if  I  had  seen  any- 
one making  off  with  any  of  the  fruit.  It  is  a  de- 
lightful change  from  the  hot  stuffy  August  Paris 
I  left  yesterday.  My  street  is  absolutely  deserted, 
every  house  closed  except  mine,  the  sun  shining 
down  hard  on  the  white  pavement,  and  perfect 
stillness  all  day.  The  evenings  from  seven  till  ten 
are  indescribable — a  horror  of  musical  concierges 
with  accordions,  a  favorite  French  instrument. 
They  all  sit  outside  their  doors  with  their  families 
and  friends,  playing  and  singing  all  the  popular 
songs,  and  at  intervals  all  joining  in  a  loud  chorus 
of  **Viens  Poupoule."  Grooms  are  teaching  lady 
friends  to  ride  bicycles,  a  lot  of  barking,  yapping 
fox-terriers  running  alongside.  There  is  a  lively 
cross-conversation  going  on  from  one  side  of  the 
street  to  the  other,  my  own  concierge  and  chauffeur 
contributing  largely.  Of  course  my  balcony  is  un- 
tenable, and  I  am  obliged  to  sit  inside,  until  happily 
sleep  descends  upon  them.  They  all  vanish,  and 
the  street  relapses  into  perfect  silence.  I  am 
delighted  to  find  myself  in  this  quiet  little  Norman 

[253] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

bathing-place,  just  getting  known  to  the  French 
and  foreign  public. 

It  is  hardly  a  village;  the  collection  of  villas, 
small  houses,  shops,  and  two  enormous  hotels  sur- 
rounding the  etablissement  seems  to  have  sprung  up 
quite  suddenly  and  casually  in  the  midst  of  the 
green  fields  and  woods,  shut  in  on  all  sides  almost 
by  the  Forest  of  Ardennes,  which  makes  a  beautiful 
curtain  of  verdure.  There  are  villas  dotted  about 
everywhere,  of  every  possible  style;  Norman 
chalets,  white  and  gray,  with  the  black  cross- 
beams that  one  is  so  familiar  with  all  over  this 
part  of  the  country;  English  cottages  with  veran- 
das and  bow-windows;  three  or  four  rather  pre- 
tentious looking  buildings  with  high  perrons  and 
one  or  two  terraces;  gardens  with  no  very  pretty 
flowers,  principally  red  geraniums,  some  standing 
back  in  a  nice  little  green  wood,  some  directly  on 
the  road  with  benches  along  the  fence  so  that  the 
inhabitants  can  see  the  passers-by  (and  get  all  the 
dust  of  the  roads).  But  there  isn't  much  passing 
even  in  these  days  of  automobiles.  There  are  two 
trains  from  Paris,  arriving  at  two  in  the  afternoon 
and  at  eleven  at  night.  The  run  down  from  Paris, 
especially  after  Dreux,  is  charming,  almost  like 
driving  through  a  park.  The  meadows  are  beauti- 
fully green  and  the  trees  very  fine — the  whole 
country  very  like  England  in  appearance,  recalling 

[254] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

it  all  the  time,  particularly  when  we  saw  pretty 
gray  old  farm-houses  in  the  distance — and  every 
now  and  then  a  fine  Norman  steeple. 

There  are  two  rival  hotels  and  various  small 
pensions  and  family  houses.  We  are  staying  at  the 
Grand,  which  is  very  comfortable.  There  is  a 
splendid  terrace  overlooking  the  lake;  rather  an 
ambitious  name  for  the  big  pond,  which  does, 
however,  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  place, 
particularly  at  night,  when  all  the  lights  are  re- 
flected in  the  water.  The  whole  hotel  adjourns 
there  after  dinner,  and  people  walk  up  and  down 
and  listen  to  the  music  until  ten  o'clock.  After 
that  there  is  a  decided  falling  oflf  of  the  beau  monde. 
Many  people  take  their  bath  at  half  past  five  in  the 
morning  and  are  quite  ready  to  go  to  bed  early. 
The  walk  down  in  the  early  morning  is  charming, 
through  a  broad,  shaded  alley — AUee  de  Dante. 
I  wonder  why  it  is  called  that.  I  don't  suppose 
the  poet  ever  took  warm  baths  or  douches  in  any 
description  of  etablissement.  I  remember  the  tale 
we  were  always  told  when  we  were  children,  and 
rebelled  against  the  perpetual  cleansing  and  wash- 
ing that  went  on  in  the  nursery,  of  the  Italian 
countess  who  said  she  would  be  ashamed,  if  she 
couldn't  do  all  her  washing  in  a  glass  of  water.  It 
is  rather  amusing  to  see  all  the  types.  I  don't 
think  there  are  many  foreigners.  I  hear  very  little 

[255] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

English  spoken,  though  they  tell  me  there  are 
some  English  here.  We  certainly  don't  look  our 
best  in  the  early  morning,  but  the  women  stand 
the  test  better  than  the  men.  With  big  hats,  veils, 
and  the  long  cloaks  they  wear  now,  they  pass 
muster  very  well  and  don't  really  look  any  worse 
than  when  they  are  attired  for  a  spin  in  an  open 
auto;  but  the  men,  with  no  waistcoats,  a  foulard 
around  their  throats,  and  a  very  dejected  air,  don't 
have  at  all  the  conquering-hero  appearance  that 
one  likes  to  see  in  the  stronger  sex. 

The  etablissement  is  large  and  fairly  good,  but 
nothing  like  what  one  finds  in  all  the  Austrian  and 
German  baths.  When  I  first  go  in,  coming  out  of 
the  fresh  morning  air,  I  am  rather  oppressed  with 
the  smell  of  hot  air,  damp  clothing,  and  many 
people  crowded  into  little  hot  bath-rooms.  There 
are  terrible  little  dark  closets  called  cabinets  de 
repos.  Many  doctors  in  white  waistcoats  and  red 
ribbons  are  walking  about;  plenty  of  baigneuses, 
with  their  sleeves  rolled  up,  showing  a  red  arm  that 
evidently  has  been  constantly  in  the  water;  people 
who  have  had  their  baths  and  are  resting,  wrapped 
up  in  blankets,  stretched  out  on  long  chairs  near 
the  windows;  bells  going  all  the  time,  cries  of 
"Marie-Louise,"  "Jeanne,"  "Anne-Marie."  It  is 
rather  a  pandemonium.  Our  baigneuse,  who  is 
called  Marie-Louise,  is  upstairs.    At  the  top  of  the 


L'Etablissemerit,  Bagnoles  de  I'Orne. 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

stairs  there  is  a  grand  picture  of  the  horse  who  dis- 
covered the  Bagnoles  waters,  a  beautiful  white 
beast  standing  in  a  spring,  all  water  lilies  and 
sparkling  water.  A  lovely  young  lady  in  a  trans- 
parent green  garment  with  roses  over  each  ear, 
like  the  head-dress  one  sees  on  Japanese  women, 
is  holding  his  bridle.  The  legend  says  that  a  cer- 
tain gallant  and  amorous  knight  of  yore,  having 
become  old  and  crippled  with  rheumatism,  and 
unable  any  longer  to  make  a  brave  show  in  tour- 
naments under  fair  ladies'  eyes,  determined  to  retire 
from  the  world,  and  to  leave  his  horse — ^faithful 
companion  of  many  jousts — in  a  certain  green 
meadow  traversed  by  a  babbling  brook,  where  he 
could  end  his  days  in  peace.  What  was  his  sur- 
prise, some  months  later,  to  find  his  horse  quietly 
standing  again  in  his  old  stable,  his  legs  firm  and 
straight,  his  skin  glossy,  quite  renovated.  The 
master  took  himself  off  to  the  meadow,  investigated 
the  quality  of  the  water,  bathed  himself,  and  began 
life  anew  with  straightened  limbs  and  quickened 
pulses.  The  waters  certainly  do  wonders.  We  see 
every  day  people  who  had  arrived  on  crutches  or 
walking  with  canes  quite  discarding  them  after  a 
course  of  baths. 

The  hotel  is  full,  mostly  French,  but  there  are 
of  course  some  exceptions.  We  have  a  tall  and 
stately  royal  princess  with  two  daughters  and  a 

[  257  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

niece.  The  girls  are  charming — simple,  pretty,  and 
evidently  much  pleased  to  be  away  for  a  little 
while  from  court  life  and  etiquette.  They  make 
their  cure  quite  regularly,  like  any  one  else,  walk- 
ing and  sitting  in  the  Allee  Dante.  The  people 
don't  stare  at  them  too  much.  There  are  one  or 
two  well-known  men — deputies,  membres  de  ITn- 
stitut — ^but,  of  course,  women  are  in  the  majority. 
There  is  a  band — not  very  good,  as  the  perform- 
ers, some  of  them  good  enough  alone,  had  never 
played  together  until  they  came  here.  However,  it 
isn't  of  much  consequence,  as  no  one  listens.  I 
make  friends  with  them,  as  usual;  something 
always  draws  me  to  artists.  The  boy  at  the  piano 
looks  so  thin — really  as  if  he  did  not  get  enough  to 
eat.  He  plays  very  well,  told  me  he  was  a  premier 
prix  of  the  Conservatoire  de  Madrid.  WTien  one 
thinks  of  the  hours  of  work  and  fatigue  that  means, 
it  is  rather  pathetic  to  see  him,  contented  to  earn 
a  few  francs  a  night,  pounding  away  at  a  piano 
and  generally  ending  with  a  "cake  walk,"  danced 
by  some  enterprising  young  people  with  all  sorts 
of  remarkable  steps  and  gestures,  which  would 
certainly  astonish  the  original  negro  performers  on 
a  plantation. 

The  view  from  the  terrace  at  night  is  pretty — 
quantities  of  lights  twinkling  about  among  the 
trees,  and  beyond,  always  on  each  side  and  in 

[  258  ] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

front,  the  thick  green  walls  of  the  forest  quite 
shutting  in  the  quiet  little  place.  We  are  usually 
the  last  outside.  It  grows  cooler  as  the  evening 
gets  on,  and  I  fancy  it  is  not  wise  to  sit  out  too  late 
after  the  hot  bath  and  fatigue  of  the  day. 

It  is  a  splendid  automobiling  country,  and 
every  afternoon  there  is  a  goodly  show  of  motors 
of  all  sizes  and  makes  waiting  to  take  their  owners 
on  some  of  the  many  interesting  excursions  which 
abound  in  this  neighbourhood.  We  have  an  Eng- 
lish friend  who  has  brought  over  his  automobile, 
a  capital  one — ^English  make — and  we  have  been 
out  several  times  with  him.  The  other  day  we 
went  to  Domfront — a  lovely  road,  almost  all  the 
way  through  woods,  the  forest  of  Audaine  with  its 
fine  old  trees  making  splendid  shade.  We  passed 
through  the  Etoile — well  known  to  all  the  hunting 
men,  as  it  is  a  favourite  rendez-vous  de  chasse.  It  is 
a  lovely  part  of  the  forest,  a  great  green  space  with 
alleys  running  oflf  into  the  woods  in  all  directions. 
Some  of  them,  where  the  ground  was  a  little  hilly, 
looked  like  beautiful  green  paths  going  straight 
up  to  the  clouds. 

We  kept  in  the  forest  almost  all  the  way — as  we 
got  near  Domfront  the  road  rising  all  the  time, 
quite  steep  at  the  end,  which,  however,  made  no 
perceptible  difference  in  our  speed.  The  big  auto 
galloped  up  all  the  hills  quite  smoothly  and  with 

[259] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

no  effort.  It  was  a  divine  view  as  we  finally 
emerged  from  the  woods — miles  of  beautiful  green 
meadows  and  hedges  stretching  away  on  each 
side  and  a  blue  line  of  hills  in  the  distance.  We  had 
been  told  that  we  could  see  Mont  St.  Michel  and 
the  sea  with  our  glasses,  but  we  didn't,  though  the 
day  was  very  clear.  Domfront  is  a  very  old  walled 
town,  with  round  towers  and  a  great  square  don- 
jon, perched  on  the  top  of  a  mountain.  A  long 
stretch  of  solid  wall  is  still  there,  and  some  of  the 
old  towers  are  converted  into  modern  dwellings. 
It  looked  out  of  place  to  see  ordinary  lace  curtains 
tied  back  with  a  ribbon  and  pots  of  red  geraniums 
in  the  high  narrow  windows,  when  one  thought  of 
the  rough  grim  soldiers  armed  to  the  teeth  who 
have  stood  for  hours  in  those  same  windows 
watching  anxiously  for  the  first  glimpse  of  an 
armed  band  appearing  at  the  edge  of  the  mead- 
ows. The  chateau  must  have  been  a  fine  feudal 
fortress  in  its  time  and  has  sheltered  many  great 
personages.  William  the  Conqueror,  of  course — 
he  has  apparently  lived  in  every  chateau  and  sailed 
from  every  harbour  in  this  part  of  Normandy — 
Charles  IX,  Catherine  de  Medicis,  and  the  Mont- 
gomery who  killed  Henri  II  in  tournament. 

It  was  too  early  to  go  home,  so  we  went  on  to 
the  Chateau  de  Lassay.  We  raced  through  pretty 
little   clean   gray   villages,    looking   peaceful   and 

[ 


in  Domfront  some  of  the  old  towers  are  converted  into  modem  dwellings. 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

sleepy  and  deserted  and  evidently  quite  accus- 
tomed to  automobiles.  No  one  took  much  notice 
of  us.  There  were  only  a  few  old  people  and  chil- 
dren in  the  streets ;  all  the  men  were  working  in  the 
fields  gathering  in  their  harvest.  Lassay  is  quite 
a  place,  with  hotels,  shops,  churches,  and  an  old 
Benedictine  convent.  We  left  the  auto  in  the 
square,  as  it  couldn't  get  up  the  narrow,  steep  little 
road  to  the  hotel.  There  were  swarms  of  beggars 
of  all  ages — old  women,  girls,  children — lining  the 
road  before  we  got  to  the  chateau.  Monsieur  B. 
(deputy),  who  was  with  us,  remonstrated  vigor- 
ously, particularly  with  stout,  sturdy  young  women 
who  were  pursuing  us,  but  they  didn't  care  a  bit, 
and  we  only  got  rid  of  them  once  we  had  crossed 
the  moat  and  drawbridge  and  got  into  the  court- 
yard, where  a  wrinkled  and  red-cheeked  old  woman 
locked  the  door  after  us.  The  chateau  is  almost 
entirely  in  ruins,  but  must  have  been  splendid. 
There  is  a  sort  of  modern  dwelling-house  in  the  inner 
court,  but  I  fancy  the  proprietor  rarely  lives  there. 
It  is  enormous.  There  are  eight  massive  round  tow- 
ers connected  by  a  courtine  (little  green  path)  that 
runs  along  the  top  of  the  ramparts .  The  big  door  that 
opens  on  the  park  is  modern,  and  makes  decidedly 
poor  effect  after  the  fine  old  pointed  doorway  that 
gives  access  to  the  great  courtyard.  The  park,  with 
a  little  care  and  a  little  money  spent  on  it,  would 

[261] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

be  beautiful,  but  it  is  quite  wild  and  uncared  for. 
There  are  splendid  old  trees,  some  of  them  cov- 
ered entirely  with  ivy  growing  straight  up  into  the 
branches  and  giving  a  most  peculiar  effect  to  the 
trees;  ragged  green  paths  leading  to  woods;  run- 
ning waters  with  little  bridges  thrown  over  them; 
a  splendid  vegetation  everywhere,  almost  a  jungle 
in  some  places — all  utterly  neglected.  The  old 
woman  took  us  through  the  "casemates" — dark 
stone  galleries  with  little  narrow  slits  for  windows 
or  to  fire  through;  they  used  to  run  all  around 
the  house,  connected  by  a  subterranean  passage, 
but  they  are  now,  like  all  the  rest,  half  in  ruins. 
It  was  most  interesting.  We  had  not  the  energy, 
any  of  us,  to  go  up  into  the  tower  and  see  the  view 
— we  had  seen  it  all  the  way,  culminating  at  Dom- 
front  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  though  very 
beautiful,  it  is  always  the  same — ^great  stretches  of 
green  fields,  hedges,  and  fine  trees.  It  is  a  little 
too  peaceful  and  monotonous  for  my  taste.  I  like 
something  bolder  and  wilder.  A  high  granite  cliff 
standing  out  in  the  sea,  with  the  great  Atlantic 
rollers  breaking  perpetually  against  it,  appeals  to 
"^  me  much  more  than  green  fields  and  cows  stand- 
ing placidly  in  little  clear  brooks,  and  clean,  com- 
fortable farmhouses,  with  pretty  gray  Norman 
steeples  rising  out  of  the  woods,  but  my  compan- 
ions were  certainly  not  of  my  opinion  and  were 

[262] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

enchanted  with  the  Norman  landscape.  We  had 
a  long  ride  back  in  the  soft  evening  light.  I  am 
afraid  to  say  how  many  kilometres  we  went  in  the 
three  hours  we  were  away. 

It  has  been  warm  these  last  days.  There  is  a 
bit  of  road  absolutely  without  shade  of  any  kind 
we  have  to  pass  every  time  we  go  to  the  etablisse- 
ment,  which  is  very  trying.  I  love  the  early  morn- 
ing walk,  everything  is  so  fresh  and  the  air  singu- 
larly light  and  pure.  It  seems  wicked  to  go  into 
that  atmosphere  of  hot  air  and  suffering  humanity, 
which  greets  one  on  the  threshold  of  the  bath- 
house. To-day  I  have  been  driving  with  the 
princess.  She  does  not  like  the  automobile  when 
she  is  making  a  cure — says  it  shakes  her  too  much. 

We  had  a  pretty  drive,  past  the  chateau  of 
Couterne,  which  is  most  picturesque.  A  beautiful 
beech  avenue  leads  up  to  the  house,  which  is  built 
of  brick,  with  round  towers  and  a  large  pond  or 
lake  which  comes  right  up  to  the  walls.  It  is  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  has  been  inhabited  ever 
since  by  the  same  family.  One  of  the  ancestors 
was  "chevalier  et  poete"  of  Queen  Marguerite  of 
Navarre.  I  had  a  nice  talk  with  the  princess  about 
everything  and  everybody.  I  asked  her  if  she  had 
ever  read  "The  Lightning  Conductor."  As  her 
own  auto  is  a  Napier,  I  thought  it  would  interest 
her.    I  told  her  all  the  potins  (little  gossip)  of  the 

[263] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

hotel — that  people  said  her  youngest  daughter 
was  going  to  marry  the  King  of  Spain,  and  the 
general  verdict  was  that  the  princess  would  make 
"  a  beautiful  queen."  Every  one  is  horror-struck  at 
the  murder  of  the  Russian  Minister  of  the  Interior, 
and  I  suppose  it  is  only  a  beginning. 

This  afternoon  I  have  been  walking  in  the 
lovely  woods  at  the  back  of  the  etablissement.  It 
is  rather  a  steep  climb  to  get  to  the  point  de  vue 
and  troublesome  walking,  as  the  paths  are  dry  and 
slippery  and  the  roots  of  the  pine-trees  that  spread 
out  over  the  paths  catch  one's  heels  sometimes. 
Some  people  spend  all  their  day  high  up  in  the 
pines — take  up  books,  seats,  work,  and  gouter, 
and  only  come  down  after  six,  when  the  air  gets 
cooler.  We  saw  parties  seated  about  in  all  direc- 
tions and  had  glimpses  of  the  white  dresses,  which 
are  a  uniform  this  year,  flitting  through  the  trees. 
It  was  very  pretty,  but  not  like  the  walls  of  Marien- 
bad,  with  the  splendid  black  pine  forest  all  around 
and  every  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  a  green  Aim 
(high  field  on  the  top  of  a  mountain),  with  the 
peasant  girl  in  her  high  Tyrolean  hat  and  clean 
white  chemisette  standing  on  the  edge,  with  her 
cows  all  behind  her  and  the  bells  tinkling  in  the 
distance. 

It  was  so  warm  this  evening  that  we  sat  out  until 
ten  o'clock.     We  had  a  visit  from  Comte  de  G., 

[  264  ] 


hufff^' 


Ch&teau  de  Lassay. 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

son-in-law  of  our  friend  Mrs.  L.  S.  He  lives  at 
Peauville,  and  had  announced  himself  for  Monday 
morning  for  breakfast  at  twelve.  He  did  come  for 
breakfast,  but  on  Tuesday  morning,  having  been 
en  route  since  Monday  morning  at  seven  o'clock. 
He  was  in  an  automobile  and  everything  happened 
to  him  that  can  happen  to  an  automobile  except 
an  absolute  smash.  He  punctured  his  tires,  had 
a  big  hole  in  his  reservoir,  his  steering  gear  bent, 
his  bougies  always  doing  something  they  oughtn't 
to.  He  dined  and  slept  at  Falaise;  rather  a 
sketchy  repast,  but  as  he  told  us  he  could  always 
get  along  with  poached  eggs,  could  eat  six  in  an 
ordinary  way  and  twelve  in  an  emergency,  we 
were  reassured;  for  one  can  always  get  eggs  and 
milk  in  Normandy.  He  arrived  in  a  perfectly 
good  humour  and  made  himself  very  pleasant. 
He  is  an  old  soldier — a  cavalry  officer — and 
doesn't  mind  roughing  it. 

The  journey  from  Deauville  to  Bagnoles  is 
usually  accomplished  in  three  or  four  hours. 
Falaise,  the  birthplace  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
is  an  interesting  old  town,  but  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  asleep  ever  since  that  great  event.  The  old 
castle  is  very  fine,  stands  high,  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  so  that  the  rock  seems  to  form  part  of 
the  great  walls.  There  is  one  fine  round  tower, 
and  always  the  grass  walk  aroimd  the  ramparts. 

[265] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

The  views  are  beautiful.  Looking  down  from  one 
of  the  narrow,  pointed  windows,  still  fairly  pre- 
served, we  had  the  classic  Norman  landscape  at 
our  feet — beautiful  green  fields,  enormous  trees 
making  spots  of  black  shade  in  the  bright  grass, 
the  river,  sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  winding 
through  the  meadows,  a  group  of  washerwomen, 
busy  and  chattering,  beating  their  clothes  on 
the  flat  stones  where  the  river  narrows  a  little 
under  the  castle  walls,  and  a  bright  blue  sky  over- 
head. 
\/  We  walked  through  the  Grande  Place — pictu- 
resque enough.  On  one  side  the  Church  of  La 
Trinite,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  Place  the  bronze 
equestrian  statue  of  William  the  Conqueror.  It  is 
very  spirited.  He  is  in  full  armor,  lance  in  hand, 
his  horse  plunging  forward  toward  imaginary 
enemies.  They  say  the  figure  was  copied  from 
Queen  Mathilde's  famous  tapestries  at  Bayeux, 
but  it  looked  more  modern  to  me.  I  remember  all 
the  men  and  beasts  and  ships  of  those  tapestries 
looked  most  extraordinary  as  to  shape.  Monsieur 
R.  took  over  the  young  princesses  the  other  day  in 
his  auto.  They  were  very  keen  to  see  the  cradle 
of  their  race.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  descend- 
ants of  the  great  rough  soldier  starting  in  an  auto, 
fresh,  pretty  English  girls,  dressed  in  the  trot- 
teuses  (little  short  skirts)  that  we  all  wear  in  the 

[266] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

country,    carrying    their    kodaks    and    sketching 
materials. 

All  this  part  of  the  country  teems  with  legends 
of  the  great  warrior.  Years  ago,  when  we  were  at 
Deauville,  we  drove  over  to  Dives  to  breakfast — 
one  gets  a  very  good  breakfast  at  the  little  hotel. 
We  wandered  about  afterward  down  to  the  sea 
(William  the  Conqueror  is  said  to  have  sailed  from 
Dives),  and  into  the  little  church  where  the  names 
of  all  the  barons  who  accompanied  him  to  England 
are  written  on  tablets  on  the  walls.  We  saw  vari- 
ous relics  and  places  associated  with  him  and  talked 
naturally  a  great  deal  about  the  Conqueror.  On 
the  way  home  (we  were  a  large  party  in  a  brake) 
one  of  our  compatriots,  a  nice  young  fellow  whose 
early  education  had  evidently  not  been  very  com- 
prehensive, turned  to  me,  saying;  "Do  tell  me, 
what  did  that  fellow  conquer.?"  I  could  hardly 
believe  my  own  ears,  but  unfortunately  for  him, 
just  at  that  moment  we  were  walking  up  a  steep 
hill  and  everybody  in  the  carriage  overheard  his 
remark.  It  was  received  with  such  shouts  of 
laughter  that  any  explanation  was  difficult,  and 
one  may  imagine  the  jokes,  and  the  numerous  and 
fabulous  conquests  that  were  instantly  put  down 
to  the  great  duke's  account.  The  poor  fellow  was 
quite  bewildered.  However,  I  don't  know  if  an 
American  is  bound  to  know  any  history  but  that  of 

[267] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

his  own  country.  I  am  quite  sure  that  many 
people  in  the  carriage  didn't  know  whom  Poca- 
hontas married,  nor  what  part  she  played  in  the 
early  days  of  America.  But  it  was  funny  all  the 
same. 

We  have  been  out  again  this  afternoon  in  Mon- 
sieur R.'s  auto — a  charming  turn.  We  started  out 
by  the  Etoile,  as  Monsieur  R.  wanted  to  show  it 
to  some  gentlemen  who  were  with  us.  The  drive, 
if  anything,  was  more  lovely  than  the  first  time, 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  were  so  beautiful  shin- 
ing through  the  rich  green  foliage,  making  pat- 
terns upon  the  hard,  white  road.  We  raced  all 
over  the  country,  through  countless  little  villages, 
all  exactly  alike,  sometimes  flying  past  a  stately 
old  brick  chateau  just  seen  at  the  end  of  a  long, 
beech  avenue,  sometimes  past  an  old  church 
standing  high,  its  gray  stone  steeple  showing  well 
against  the  bright,  cloudless  sky,  and  a  little 
graveyard  stretching  along  the  hillside,  the  roads 
bordered  on  each  side  with  high  green  banks  and 
hedges,  the  orchards  full  of  apple-trees,  and  the 
whole  active  population  of  the  village  in  the  fields. 
It  is  a  beautiful  month  to  be  in  Normandy,  for 
one  must  have  sun  in  these  parts.  As  soon  as  it 
rains  everything  is  gray  and  cold  and  melan- 
choly, the  forest  looks  like  a  great  high  black  wall, 
the  meadows  are  shrouded  in  mist,  and  the  damp 

[268] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

strikes  through  one.  Now  it  is  smiling,  sunny, 
peaceful. 

We  have  frightened  various  horses  to-day;  a 
quiet  old  gray  steed,  driven  by  two  old  ladies  in 
black  bonnets.  They  were  too  old  to  get  out,  and 
were  driving  their  horse  timidly  and  nervously 
into  the  ditch  in  their  anxiety  to  give  us  all  the 
road.  However,  we  slowed  up  and  the  horse 
didn't  look  as  if  he  could  run  away.  Two  big  cart- 
horses, too,  at  the  end  of  a  long  line,  dragging  a 
heavy  wagon,  turned  short  round  and  almost  ran 
into  us;  also  a  very  small  donkey,  driven  by  a 
little  brown  girl,  showed  symptoms  of  flight.  I 
don't  know  the  names  of  half  the  villages  we 
passed  through.  Near  Bagnoles  we  came  to  La 
Ferte-Mace,  which  looks  quite  imposing  as  one 
comes  down  upon  it  from  the  top  of  a  long  hill. 
The  church  makes  a  great  effect — looks  almost 
like  a  cathedral.  Bagnoles  looked  very  animated 
as  we  came  back.  People  were  loitering  about 
shopping — quite  a  number  of  carriages  and  autos 
before  the  door  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  people 
sitting  out  under  the  trees  in  the  gardens  of  the 
different  villas.  It  was  decidedly  cool  at  the  end 
of  our  outing;  I  was  glad  to  have  my  coat. 

This  morning  after  breakfast,  in  the  big  hall, 
where  every  one  congregates  for  coffee,  we  had  a 
little  political  talk — not  very  satisfactory.    Every- 

[269] 


CHATEAU   LIFE   IN  FRANCE 

body  is  discontented  and  everybody  protests,  but 
no  one  seems  able  to  stop  the  radical  current. 
The  rupture  with  the  Vatican  has  come  at  last, 
and  I  think  might  have  been  avoided  if  they  had 
been  a  little  more  patient  in  Rome.  There  will 
be  all  sorts  of  complications  and  bitter  feeling,  and 
I  don't  quite  see  what  benefit  the  country  at  large 
will  get  from  the  present  state  of  things.  A  general 
feeling  of  irritation  and  uncertainty,  higher  taxes 
— for  they  must  build  school-houses  and  pay  lay- 
teachers  and  country  cures.  A  whole  generation 
of  children  cannot  be  allowed  to  grow  up  without 
religious  instruction  of  any  kind.  I  can  under- 
stand how  the  association  of  certain  religious 
orders  (men)  could  be  mischievous — harmful  even 
— but  I  am  quite  sure  that  no  one  in  his  heart 
believes  any  harm  of  the  women — soeurs  de 
charite  and  teachers — who  occupy  themselves  with 
the  old  people,  the  sick,  and  the  children.  In  our 
little  town  they  have  sent  away  an  old  sister  who 
had  taught  and  generally  looked  after  three  gen- 
erations of  children.  When  she  was  expelled  she 
had  been  fifty  years  in  the  town  and  was  teaching 
the  grandchildren  of  her  first  scholars.  Every- 
body knew  her,  everybody  loved  her;  when  any 
one  was  ill  or  in  trouble  she  was  always  the  first 
person  sent  for.  Now  there  is  at  the  school  an 
intelligent,   well-educated   young   laique   with   all 

[  270  ] 


A  CORNER  OF  NORMANDY 

the  necessary  brevets.  I  dare  say  she  will  teach 
the  children  very  well,  but  her  task  ends  with  the 
close  of  her  class.  She  doesn't  go  to  church, 
doesn't  know  the  people,  doesn't  interest  herself 
in  all  their  little  affairs,  and  will  never  have  the 
position  and  the  influence  the  old  religieuse  had. 

I  am  sorry  to  go  away  from  this  quiet  little 
green  corner  of  Normandy,  but  we  have  taken  the 
requisite  number  of  baths.  Every  one  rushes  off 
as  soon  as  the  last  bath  (twenty-first  generally)  is 
taken.  Countess  F.  took  her  twenty-first  at  six 
o'clock  this  morning,  and  left  at  ten. 


t271] 


IX 


A   NORMAN    TOWN 

Valognes,  August, 

1SEEM  to  have  got  into  another  world,  almost 
another  century,  in  this  old  town.  I  had 
always  promised  the  Florians  I  would  come  and 
stay  with  them,  and  was  curious  to  see  their  in- 
stallation in  one  of  the  fine  old  hotels  of  the  place. 
The  journey  was  rather  long — not  particularly 
interesting.  We  passed  near  Caen,  getting  a  very 
good  view  of  the  two  great  abbayes*  with  their 
towers  and  spires  quite  sharply  outlined  against 
the  clear  blue  sky.  The  train  was  full.  At  almost 
every  station  family  parties  got  in — crowds  of 
children  all  armed  with  spades,  pails,  butterfly- 
nets,  and  rackets,  all  the  paraphernalia  of  happy, 
healthy  childhood.  For  miles  after  Caen  there 
were  long  stretches  of  green  pasture-lands — hun- 
dreds of  cows  and  horses,  some  of  them  the  big 
Norman  dray-horses  resting  a  little  before  begin- 
ning again  their  hard  work,  and  quantities  of  long- 

♦  Abbaye  aux  Hommes,  Abbaye  aux  Dames. 

[272] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

legged  colts  trotting  close  up  alongside  of  their 
mothers,  none  of  them  apparently  minding  the 
train.  We  finally  arrived  at  the  quiet  little  station 
of  Valognes.  Countess  de  Florian  was  waiting  for 
me,  with  their  big  omnibus,  and  we  had  a  short 
drive  all  through  the  town  to  their  hotel,  which  is 
quite  at  one  end,  a  real  country  road  running  in 
front  of  their  house.  It  is  an  old  hotel  standing 
back  from  the  road  and  shut  in  with  high  iron 
gates.  There  is  a  large  court-yard  with  a  grass- 
plot  in  the  middle,  enormous  flower-beds  on  each 
side,  and  a  fine  sweep  of  carriage  road  to  the 
perron.  A  great  double  stone  staircase  runs 
straight  up  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and  glass  doors 
opposite  the  entrance  lead  into  the  garden.  I  had 
an  impression  of  great  space  and  height  and  floods 
of  light.  I  went  straight  into  the  garden,  where 
they  gave  me  tea,  which  was  most  refreshing  after 
the  long  hot  day.  They  have  no  house  party. 
The  dowager  countess,  Florian's  mother,  is  here, 
and  there  was  a  cousin,  a  naval  officer,  who  went 
off  to  Cherbourg  directly  after  dinner.  The 
ground-floor  is  charming;  on  one  side  of  the  hall 
there  are  three  or  four  salons,  and  a  billiard-room 
running  directly  across  the  house  from  the  garden 
to  the  court-yard;  on  the  other,  a  good  dining- 
room  and  two  or  three  guests'  rooms;  the  family 
all  live  upstairs. 

[  273  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

It  is  a  delightful  house.  My  room  is  on  the 
ground-floor,  opening  from  the  corridor,  which  is 
large  and  bright,  paved  with  flag-stones.  My 
windows  look  out  on  the  entrance  court,  so  that  I 
see  all  that  goes  on.  As  soon  as  my  maid  has 
opened  the  windows  and  brought  in  my  petit 
dejeuner,  I  hear  a  tap  at  the  door  and  the  coun- 
tess's maid  appears  to  ask,  with  madame's  compli- 
ments, if  I  have  all  I  want,  if  I  have  had  a  good 
night,  and  to  bring  me  the  morning  paper.  The 
first  person  to  move  is  the  dowager  countess,  who 
goes  to  early  mass  every  morning.  She  is  a  type  of 
the  old-fashioned  French  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
lady;  a  straight,  slender  figure,  always  dressed  in 
black,  devoted  to  her  children  and  to  all  her  own 
family,  with  the  courteous,  high-bred  manner  one 
always  finds  in  French  women  of  the  old  school. 
She  doesn't  take  much  interest  in  the  outside 
world,  nor  in  anything  that  goes  on  in  other  coun- 
tries, but  is  too  polite  to  show  that  when  she  talks 
to  me,  for  instance,  who  have  knocked  about  so 
much.  She  doesn't  understand  the  modern  life, 
so  sans  gene  and  agitated,  and  it  is  funny  to  hear 
her  say  when  talking  of  people  she  doesn't  quite 
approve  of,  "lis  ne  sont  pas  de  notre  monde." 

Then  comes  the  young  countess,  very  energetic 
and  smiling,  with  her  short  skirt  and  a  bag  on  her 
arm,  going  to  market.    She  sees  me  at  the  window 

[274] 


'"^^==3^2^^^^- 


'f:^/^rr/-f'fn,ifrj,. 


Entrance  to  hotel  of  the  Comte  de  Florian. 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

and  stops  to  know  if  I  am  going  out.  Will  I  join 
her  at  the  market  ?  All  the  ladies  of  Valognes  do 
their  own  marketing  and  some  of  the  well-known 
fishwomen  and  farmers'  wives  who  come  in  from 
the  country  with  poultry  would  be  quite  hurt  if 
Madame  la  Comtesse  didn't  come  herself  to  give 
her  orders  and  have  a  little  talk.  This  morning 
I  have  been  to  market  with  Countess  Florian.  The 
women  looked  so  nice  and  clean  in  their  short, 
black,  heavily  plaited  skirts,  high  white  caps,  and 
handkerchiefs  pinned  over  their  bodices.  The 
little  stalls  went  all  down  the  narrow  main  street 
and  spread  out  on  the  big  square  before  the  church. 
The  church  is  large,  with  a  square  tower  and  fine 
dome — nothing  very  interesting  as  to  architecture. 
Some  of  the  stalls  were  very  tempting  and  the 
smiling,  red-cheeked  old  women,  sitting  up  behind 
their  wares,  were  so  civil  and  anxious  to  sell  us 
something.  The  fish-market  was  most  inviting — 
quantities  of  flat  white  turbots,  shining  silver 
mackerel,  and  fresh  crevettes  piled  high  on  a 
marble  slab  with  water  running  over  them.  Four 
or  five  short-skirted,  bare-legged  fisher  girls  were 
standing  at  the  door  with  baskets  of  fish  on  their 
heads.  Florian  joined  us  there  and  seemed  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  these  young  women.  He  made 
all  kinds  of  jokes  with  them,  to  which  they  re- 
sponded with  giggles  and  a  funny  little  half-courte- 

[275] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

sy,  half-nod.  Both  Florians  spoke  so  nicely  to  all 
the  market  people  as  we  passed  from  stall  to  stall. 
The  poultry  looked  very  good — such  fat  ducks  and 
chickens.  It  was  funny  to  see  the  bourgeoises  of 
Valognes  all  armed  with  a  large  basket  doing  their 
marketing;  they  looked  at  the  chickens,  poked 
them,  lifted  them  so  as  to  be  sure  of  their  weight, 
and  evidently  knew  to  a  centime  what  they  had  to 
pay.  I  fancy  the  Norman  menagere  is  a  pretty 
sharp  customer  and  knows  exactly  what  she  must 
pay  for  everything.  The  vegetable  stalls  were 
very  well  arranged — the  most  enormous  cabbages 
I  ever  saw.  I  think  the  old  ladies  who  presided 
there  were  doing  a  flourishing  business.  I  did 
not  find  much  to  buy — some  gray  knitted  stockings 
that  I  thought  would  be  good  for  my  Mareuil  * 
boys  and  some  blue  linen  blouses  with  white  em- 
broidery, that  all  the  carters  wear,  and  which  the 
Paris  dressmakers  transform  into  very  pretty 
summer  costumes.  I  bought  for  myself  a  paper 
bag  full  of  cherries  for  a  few  sous,  then  left 
the  Florians,  and  wandered  about  the  streets 
a  little  alone.  They  are  generally  narrow, 
badly  paved,  with  grass  growing  in  the  very 
quiet  ones.  There  are  many  large  hotels  stand- 
ing well  back,  entre  cour  et  jardin,  the  big 
doors  and  gate-ways  generally  heavy  and  much 

*  Mareuil  is  the  name  of  the  village  near  our  place  in  France. 
[276] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

ornamented — a  great  deal  of  carving  on  the  fa- 
cades and  cornices,  queer  heads  and  beasts.  Va- 
lognes  has  not  always  been  the  quiet,  dull,  little 
provincial  town  it  is  to-day.  It  has  had  its  brilliant 
moment,  when  all  the  hotels  were  occupied  by 
grands  seigneurs,  handsome  equipages  rolled 
through  the  streets,  and  its  society  prided  itself  on 
its  exclusiveness  and  grand  manner.  It  used  to  be 
said  that  to  rouler  carrosse  at  Valognes  was  a  titre 
de  noblesse,  and  the  inhabitants  considered  their 
town  a  "petit  Paris."  In  one  of  the  plays  of  the 
time,  a  marquis,  very  fashionable  and  a  well-known 
courtier,  was  made  to  say:  "II  faut  trois  mois  de 
Valognes  pour  achever  un  homme  de  cour."  One 
can  quite  imagine  "la  grande  vie  d'autrefois"  in 
the  hotel  of  the  Florians.  Their  garden  is  en- 
chanting — quantities  of  flowers,  roses  particu- 
larly. They  have  made  two  great  borders  of  tall 
pink  rose-bushes,  with  dwarf  palms  from  Bor- 
dighera  planted  between,  just  giving  the  note  of 
stiffness  which  one  would  expect  to  find  in  an  old- 
fashioned  garden.  On  one  side  is  a  large  terrace 
with  marble  steps  and  balustrade,  and  beyond  that, 
half  hidden  by  a  row  of  fruit-trees,  a  very  good 
tennis  court.  We  just  see  the  church-tower  at  one 
end  of  the  garden;  and  it  is  so  quiet  one  would 
never  dream  there  was  a  town  near.  The  country 
in  every  direction  is  beautiful — real  English  lanes, 

[277] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

the  roads  low,  high  banks  on  each  side,  with  haw- 
thorn bushes  on  top — one  drives  between  thick 
green  walls.  We  have  made  some  lovely  excur- 
sions. They  have  a  big  omnibus  with  a  banquette 
on  top  which  seats  four  people,  also  a  place  by  the 
coachman,  and  two  great  Norman  posters,  who  go 
along  at  a  good  steady  trot,  taking  a  little  gallop 
occasionally  up  and  down  the  hills. 

Countess  de  Nadaillac,  Countess  Florian's  sis- 
ter-in-law, arrived  to-day  with  her  daughter  for  a 
short  visit.  We  had  a  pleasant  evening  with 
music,  billiards,  and  dominoes  (a  favorite  game  in 
this  country).  The  dowager  countess  always 
plays  two  games,  and  precisely  at  half-past  nine 
her  old  man-servant  appears  and  escorts  her  to 
her  rooms.  We  all  break  up  early;  the  ten  o'clock 
i^  bell  is  usually  the  signal.  It  rings  every  night,  just 
as  it  has  done  for  hundreds  of  years.  The  town 
lights  are  put  out  and  the  inhabitants  understand 
that  the  authorities  are  not  responsible  for  any- 
thing that  may  happen  in  the  streets  of  Valognes 
after  such  a  dangerous  hour  of  the  night. 

.  .  .  There  are  some  fine  places  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. We  went  to-day  to  Chiffevast,  a  large 
chateau  which  had  belonged  to  the  Darus,  but  has 
been  bought  recently  by  a  rich  couple,  Valognes 
people,  who  have  made  a  large  fortune  in  cheese 
and  butter.    It  seems  their  great  market  is  London. 

[  278  ] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

They  send  over  quantities  via  Cherbourg,  which  is 
only  twenty  minutes  off  by  rail.  It  is  a  splendid 
place — with  a  fine  approach  by  a  great  avenue 
with  beautiful  old  trees.  The  chateau  is  a  large, 
square  house — looks  imposing  as  one  drives  up. 
We  didn't  see  the  master  of  the  house — ^he  was 
away — but  madame  received  us  in  all  her  best 
clothes.  She  was  much  better  dressed  than  we 
were,  evidently  by  one  of  the  good  Paris  houses. 
Countess  Florian  had  written  to  ask  if  we  might 
come,  so  she  was  under  arms.  She  was  a  little 
nervous  at  first,  talked  a  great  deal,  very  fast,  but 
when  she  got  accustomed  to  us  it  went  more  easily, 
and  she  showed  us  the  house  with  much  pride. 
There  was  some  good  furniture  and  one  beautiful 
coverlet  of  old  lace  and  embroidery,  which  she  had 
found  somewhere  upstairs  in  an  old  chest  of 
drawers.  They  have  no  children — such  a  pity,  as 
they  are  improving  and  beautifying  the  place  all 
the  time.  The  drive  home  was  delightful,  facing 
the  sunset.  I  was  amused  with  the  Florians'  old 
coachman.  He  is  a  curiosity — ^knows  everybody 
in  the  country.  He  was  much  interested  in  our 
visit  and  asked  if  we  had  seen  "la  patronne" — 
said  he  knew  her  well,  had  often  seen  her  on  a 
market  day  at  Valognes,  sitting  in  her  little  cart  in 
the  midst  of  her  cheeses  and  butter;  said  she  was 
a  brave  femme.     How  strange  it  must  seem  to 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

people  like  that,  just  out  of  their  hard-working 
peasant  life — and  it  is  hard  work  in  France — to 
find  themselves  owners  of  a  splendid  chateau  and 
estate,  receiving  the  great  people  of  the  country. 
I  dare  say  in  ten  or  twelve  years  they  will  be  like 
any  one  else,  and  if  there  were  sons  or  daughters 
the  young  men  would  get  into  parliament  or  the 
diplomatic  career,  the  daughters  would  marry 
some  impoverished  scion  of  a  noble  family,  and 
cheeses  and  butter  would  be  forgotten. 

We  had  one  delightful  day  at  Cherbourg.  The 
Prefet  Maritime  invited  us  to  breakfast  with  him 
at  his  hotel.  We  went  by  rail  to  Cherbourg,  about 
half  an  hour,  and  found  the  admiral's  carriage 
waiting  for  us.  The  prefecture  is  a  nice,  old- 
fashioned  house,  in  the  centre  of  the  town^  with  a 
big  garden.  We  took  off  our  coats  in  a  large,  hand- 
some room  upstairs.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
red  damask  and  there  were  pictures  of  Queen 
Victoria  and  Louis  Napoleon.  It  seems  the 
Queen  slept  in  that  room  one  night  when  she  came 
over  to  France  to  make  her  visit  to  Louis  Philippe 
at  the  Chateau  d'Eu.  We  found  quite  a  party 
assembled — all  the  men  in  uniform  and  the  women 
generally  in  white.  We  breakfasted  in  a  large 
dining-room  with  glass  doors  opening  into  the  gar- 
den, which  was  charming,  a  blaze  of  bright  summer 
flowers.      We    adjourned    there    for    coffee    after 

[  280  ] 


Market  women,  V^alognes. 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

breakfast.  The  trees  were  big,  made  a  good  shade, 
and  the  little  groups,  seated  about  in  the  various 
bosquets,  looked  pretty  and  gay.  When  coffee  and 
liqueurs  were  finished  we  drove  down  to  the  quay, 
where  the  admiral's  launch  was  waiting,  and  had 
a  delightful  afternoon  steaming  about  the  harbour. 
It  is  enormous,  long  jetties  and  breakwaters 
stretching  far  out,  almost  closing  it  in.  There  was 
every  description  of  craft — big  Atlantic  liners, 
yachts,  fishing  boats,  ironclads,  torpedoes,  and 
once  we  very  nearly  ran  over  a  curious  dark  object 
floating  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  which  they 
told  us  was  a  submarine.  It  did  not  look  com- 
fortable as  a  means  of  transportation,  but  the 
young  officers  told  us  it  was  delightful. 

We  got  back  to  Valognes  to  a  late  dinner,  having 
invited  a  large  party  to  come  over  for  tennis  and 
dinner  the  next  day.  The  Florians  are  a  godsend 
to  Cherbourg.  They  are  most  hospitable,  and 
with  automobiles  the  distance  is  nothing,  and  one 
is  quite  independent  of  trains.  Yesterday  four  of 
our  party  went  off  to  Cherbourg  to  make  a  cruise 
in  a  torpedo-boat.  The  ladies  were  warned  that 
they  must  put  on  clothes  which  would  not  mind 
sea- water,  but  I  should  think  bathing  dresses  would 
be  the  only  suitable  garments  for  such  an  expedi- 
tion. They  were  remarkable  objects  when  they 
came  home.  Mademoiselle  de  Nadaillac's  hat  a 

[  281  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

curiosity,  also  her  white  blouse,  where  the  red  of 
her  hat-ribbons  and  cravat  had  run.  However, 
they  had  enjoyed  themselves  immensely — at  least 
the  girl.  Countess  de  Nadaillac  was  not  quite  so 
enthusiastic.  They  got  into  dry  clothes  and 
played  tennis  vigorously  all  the  afternoon. 

We  had  a  pleasant  family  evening.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nadaillac  has  a  pretty  voice  and  sang  well. 
Florian  and  I  played  some  duets.  I  joined  in  the 
dowager's  game  of  dominoes,  which  I  don't  seem 
to  have  mastered,  as  I  lose  regularly,  and  after  she 
left  us,  escorted  by  her  faithful  old  butler  (a  light 
shawl  over  his  arm  to  put  on  her  shoulders  when 
she  passed  through  the  corridors),  we  had  rather 
an  interesting  conversation  about  ways  and  man- 
ners in  different  countries,  particularly  the  way 
young  people  are  brought  up.  I  said  we  were  a 
large  family  and  that  mother  would  never  let  us 
read  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner.  If  we  were 
all  absorbed  in  our  books,  conversation  was  im- 
possible. We  were  all  musical,  so  the  piano  and 
singing  helped  us  through.  Madame  de  Florian, 
whose  father.  Marquis  de  Nadaillac,  is  quite  of  the 
/  old  school,  said  they  were  not  even  allowed  to  work 
or  look  at  pictures  in  the  salon  after  dinner!  Her 
father  considered  it  disrespectful  if  any  of  his  chil- 
dren did  anything  but  listen  when  he  talked.  They 
might  join  in  the  conversation  if  they  had  anything 

[282] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

intelligent  to  say.  She  told  us,  too,  of  some  of  the 
quite  old-fashioned  chateaux  that  she  stayed  in  as 
a  girl,  and  even  a  young  married  woman.  There 
was  one  fire  and  one  lamp  in  the  drawing-room. 
Any  one  who  wanted  to  be  warm,  or  to  work,  was 
obliged  to  come  into  that  room.  No  fires  nor  lamps 
allowed  anywhere  else  in  the  house;  a  cup  of  tea 
in  the  afternoon  an  unheard-of  luxury.  If  you 
were  ill,  a  doctor  was  sent  for  and  he  ordered  a 
tisane;  if  you  were  merely  tired  or  cold,  you  waited 
until  dinner-time. 

We  have  also  made  a  charming  expedition  to 
Quineville,  a  small  seaside  place  about  an  hour 
and  a  half's  drive,  always  through  the  same  green 
country,  our  Norman  posters  galloping  up  all  the 
hills.  We  passed  through  various  little  villages, 
each  one  with  a  pretty  little  gray,  square-towered 
church.  There  was  plenty  of  passing,  as  it  was 
market  day.  We  met  a  good  many  peasant 
women  carrying  milk  in  those  curious  old  brass 
bowls  one  sees  everywhere  here.  Some  of  them 
are  very  handsome,  polished  until  they  shine  like 
mirrors,  with  a  delicate  pattern  lightly  traced  run- 
ning around  the  bowl.  They  balance  them  per- 
fectly on  their  heads  and  walk  along  at  a  good 
swinging  pace.  They  all  look  prosperous,  their 
skirts  (generally  black),  shoes,  and  stockings  in 
good  condition,  and  their  white  caps  and  handker- 

[283] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

chiefs  as  clean  as  possible.  Quineville  is  a  very 
quiet  little  place,  no  hotel,  and  rows  of  ugly  little 
houses  well  back  from  the  sea,  but  there  is  a  beau- 
tiful stretch  of  firm  white  sand.  To-day  it  was 
dead  low  tide.  The  sea  looked  miles  away,  a  long 
line  of  dark  sea-weed  marking  the  water's  edge. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  about;  women  and 
girls  with  stout  bare  legs,  and  a  primitive  sort  of 
tool,  half  pitchfork,  half  shovel,  were  piling  the 
sea-weed  into  the  carts  which  were  waiting  on  the 
shore.  Children  were  paddling  about  in  the  nu- 
merous little  pools  and  making  themselves  wreaths 
and  necklaces  out  of  the  berries  of  the  sea-weed — 
some  of  them  quite  bright-colored,  pink  and  yel- 
low. We  wandered  about  on  the  beach,  sitting 
sometimes  on  the  side  of  a  boat,  and  walking 
through  the  little  pools  and  streams.  It  was  a 
lonely  bit  of  water.  We  didn't  see  a  sail.  The  sea 
looked  like  a  great  blue  plain  meeting  the  sky — 
nothing  to  break  the  monotony.  We  got  some 
very  bad  coffee  at  the  restaurant — didn't  attempt 
tea.  They  would  certainly  have  said  they  had  it, 
and  would  have  made  it  probably  out  of  hay  from 
the  barn.  The  drive  home  was  delicious,  almost  too 
cool,  as  we  went  at  a  good  pace,  the  horses  know- 
ing as  well  as  we  did  that  the  end  of  their  day  was 
coming.  .  .  .  We  have  been  again  to  market  this 
morning.     It  was  much  more  amusing  than  the 

[284] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

first  time,  as  it  was  horse  day,  and  men  and  beasts 
were  congregated  in  the  middle  of  the  Cathedral 
Square.  There  was  a  fair  show — splendid  big 
cart-horses  and  good  cobs  and  ponies — here  and 
there  a  nice  saddle-horse.  There  were  a  good 
many  women  driving  themselves,  and  almost  all 
had  good,  stout  little  horses.  They  know  just  as 
much  about  it  as  the  men  and  were  much  inter- 
ested in  the  sales.  They  told  me  the  landlady  of  the 
hotel  was  the  best  judge  of  a  horse  and  a  man  in 
Normandy.  She  was  standing  at  the  entrance  of 
her  court-yard  as  we  passed  the  hotel  on  our  way 
home,  a  comely,  buxom  figure,  dressed  like  all  the 
rest  in  a  short  black  skirt  and  sabots.  She  was 
exchanging  smiling  greetings  and  jokes  with  every 
one  who  passed  and  keeping  order  with  the  crowds 
of  farmers,  drivers,  and  horse-dealers  who  were 
jostling  through  the  big  open  doors  and  clamoring 
for  food  for  themselves  and  their  animals.  She 
was  the  type  of  the  hard-working,  capable  French- 
woman of  whom  there  are  thousands  in  France. 

Some  years  ago  I  was  on  the  committee  for  a  great 
sale  we  had  in  our  arrondissement  in  Paris  for  the 
benefit  of  "  L' Assistance  par  le  Travail,"  an  excel- 
lent work  which  we  are  all  much  interested  in.  I 
was  in  charge  of  the  buffet,  and  thought  it  better 
to  apply  at  once  to  one  of  the  great  caterers,  Potel 
and  Chabot,  and  see  what  they  could  do  for  us. 

[  285  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

We  made  an  appointment,  and  Mme.  de  B.  and 
I  drove  down  to  the  place.  The  manager  was  out, 
but  they  told  us  that  Madame  was  waiting  for  us 
in  the  back  shop.  We  found  rather  a  pretty  woman, 
very  well  dressed  in  velvet,  with  diamond  ear-rings, 
and  I  was  put  out  at  first — ^thought  that  didn't  look 
like  business.  However,  we  talked  a  few  minutes; 
she  said  hei  husband  was  obliged  to  go  to  the 
country,  but  would  certainly  come  and  see  me  the 
next  day.  Then  she  stepped  up  to  her  desk,  where 
there  was  a  big  book  open,  said  she  understood  we 
wished  to  give  an  order  for  a  buffet  for  a  charity 
sale,  and  was  at  once  absorbed  in  sandwiches,  tea 
and  coffee,  orangeade,  and  all  the  requirements  for 
such  an  occasion.  She  was  perfectly  practical  and 
gave  us  some  very  useful  hints — said  she  supposed 
we  wanted  some  of  their  maitres  d'hotel.  We 
thought  not — our  own  would  do.  That,  she  said, 
would  be  a  great  mistake.  They  weren't  accus- 
tomed to  that  sort  of  thing  and  wouldn't  know  how 
to  do  it.  One  thing,  for  instance — ^they  would  cer- 
tainly fill  all  the  glasses  of  orangeade  and  punch 
much  too  full  and  would  waste  a  great  deal.  Their 
men  never  filled  a  glass  entirely,  and  consequently 
gained  two  on  every  dozen.  She  told  us  how  much 
we  wanted,  made  out  the  estimate  at  once,  and 
ended  by  asking  if  we  would  allow  them  to  present 
the  tea  as  their  contribution  to  the  charity.     It 

[286] 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

didn't  take  more  than  twenty  minutes — the  whole 
thing.  She  then  shut  up  her  book,  went  to  the  door 
with  us,  thanked  us  for  giving  them  the  order,  and 
hoped  we  would  be  satisfied.  That  business  capa- 
bility and  thriftiness  runs  through  almost  all 
Frenchwomen  of  a  certain  class,  and  when  I  hear, 
as  of  course  I  often  do,  the  frivolous,  butterfly, 
pleasure-loving  Frenchwoman  spoken  of,  that  en- 
ergetic, hard-working  bourgeoise  comes  into  my 
mind.  We  all  who  live  in  France  know  the  type 
well. 

The  whole  nation  is  frugal.  During  the  Franco- 
German  War,  my  husband,  who  had  spent  all  the 
dreary  months  of  the  invasion  at  his  chateau 
in  the  country,  was  elected  a  member  of  the 
Assemblee  Nationale,  which  met  at  Bordeaux. 
They  were  entirely  cut  off  from  Paris,  surrounded 
by  Prussian  troops  on  all  sides,  and  he  couldn't 
get  any  money.  Whatever  he  had  had  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war  had  been  spent — sending  oflF 
recruits  for  one  of  the  great  army  corps  near  his 
place.  It  was  impossible  to  communicate  with  his 
banker  or  any  friends  in  Paris,  and  yet  he  couldn't 
start  without  funds.  He  applied  to  the  notary  of 
La  Ferte-Milon,  the  little  town  nearest  the  cha- 
teau. He  asked  how  much  he  wanted.  W.  said 
about  10,000  francs.  The  notary  said,  "Give  me 
two  days  and  I  will  get  it  for  you."    He  appeared 

[287] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

three  days  afterward,  bringing  the  10,000  francs — 
a  great  deal  of  it  in  large  silver  five-franc  pieces, 
very  difficult  to  carry.  He  had  collected  the  whole 
sum  from  small  farmers  and  peasants  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood— the  five-franc  pieces  coming  always 
from  the  peasants,  sometimes  fifty  sewed  up  in  a 
mattress  or  in  the  woman's  thick,  wadded  Sunday 
skirt.  He  said  he  could  get  as  much  more  if  W. 
wanted  it.  It  seems  impossible  for  the  peasant  to 
part  with  his  money  or  invest  it.  He  must  keep  it 
well  hidden,  but  in  his  possession. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  pretty  drive  this  afternoon  to 
one  of  Florian's  farms,  down  a  little  green  lane, 
some  distance  from  the  high-road  and  so  hidden 
by  the  big  trees  that  we  saw  nothing  until  we  got 
close  to  the  gate.  It  was  late — all  the  cows  coming 
home,  the  great  Norman  horses  drinking  at  the 
trough,  two  girls  with  bare  legs  and  high  caps  call- 
ing all  the  fowl  to  supper,  and  the  farmer's  wife, 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms  and  another  child,  almost 
a  baby,  pulling  at  her  skirts,  seated  on  a  stone 
bench  underneath  a  big  apple-tree,  its  branches 
heavy  with  fruit.  She  was  superintending  the  work 
of  the  farm-yard  and  seeing  that  the  two  girls 
didn't  waste  a  minute  of  their  time,  nor  a  grain  of 
the  seed  with  which  they  were  feeding  the  chick- 
ens. A  little  clear,  sparkling  stream  was  meander- 
ing through  the  meadows,  tall  poplars  on  each 

[288] 


Old  gate-way,  Volognes. 


A  NORMAN  TOWN 

side,  and  quite  at  the  end  of  the  stretch  of  green 
fields  there  was  the  low  blue  line  of  the  sea.  The 
farm-house  is  a  large,  old-fashioned  building  with 
one  or  two  good  rooms.  It  had  evidently  been  a 
small  manor  house.  One  of  the  rooms  is  charm- 
ing, with  handsome  panels  of  dark  carved  wood. 
It  seemed  a  pity  to  leave  them  there,  and  almost  a 
pity  that  the  Florians  could  not  have  made  their 
home  in  such  a  lovely  green  spot,  but  they  would 
have  been  obliged  to  add  to  the  house  enormously, 
and  it  would  have  complicated  their  lives,  being 
so  far  away  from  everything. 

.  .  .  We  have  had  a  last  walk  and  flanerie  this 
morning.  We  went  to  the  Hospice,  formerly  a 
Benedictine  convent,  where  there  is  a  fine  gate-way 
and  court-yard  with  most  extraordinary  carving 
over  the  doors  and  gate — monstrous  heads  and 
beasts  and  emblems  alongside  of  cherubs  and 
beautiful  saints  and  angels.  One  wonders  what 
ideas  those  old  artists  had;  it  seems  now  such 
distorted  imagination.  We  walked  through  some 
of  the  oldest  streets  and  past  what  had  been  fine 
hotels,  but  they  are  quite  uninhabited  now.  Some- 
times a  bric-a-brac  shop  on  the  ground-floor,  and 
some  sort  of  society  on  the  upper  story,  but  they 
are  all  neglected  and  half  tumbling  down.  There 
is  still  splendid  carving  on  some  of  the  old  gate- 
ways and  cornices,  but  bits  of  stone  and  plaster 

[289] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

are  falling  oflF,  grass  is  growing  between  the  paving 
stones  of  the  court-yards,  and  there  is  an  air  of 
poverty  and  neglect  which  is  a  curious  contrast  to 
the  prosperous  look  of  the  country  all  around — all 
the  little  farms  and  villages  look  so  thriving.  The 
people  are  smiling  and  well  fed;  their  animals,  too 
— horses,  cows,  donkeys — all  in  good  condition. 

I  have  played  my  last  game  of  dominoes  in  this 
fine  old  hotel  and  had  my  last  cup  of  tea  in  the 
stifif,  stately  garden,  with  the  delicious  salt  sea- 
breeze  always  coming  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  ca- 
thedral chimes  sounding  high  and  clear  over  our 
heads.  I  leave  to-morrow  night  for  London,  via 
Cherbourg  and  Southampton. 


[890] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

WE  never  remained  all  summer  at  our  place. 
August  was  a  disagreeable  month  there — 
the  woods  were  full  of  horse-flies  which  made  rid- 
ing impossible.  No  nets  could  keep  them  oflf  the 
horses  who  were  almost  maddened  by  the  sting. 
They  were  so  persistent  that  we  had  to  take  them 
off  with  a  sharp  stick.  They  stuck  like  leeches. 
We  generally  went  to  the  sea — almost  always  to 
the  Norman  Coast — establishing  ourselves  in  a 
villa — sometimes  at  Deauville,  sometimes  at  Vil- 
lers,  and  making  excursions  all  over  the  country. 

Some  of  the  old  Norman  chateaux  are  charming, 
particularly  those  which  have  remained  just  as  they 
were  before  the  Revolution,  but,  of  course,  there 
are  not  many  of  these.  When  the  young  ones  suc- 
ceed, there  is  always  a  tendency  to  modify  and 
change,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  mix  the  elaborate  luxu- 
rious furniture  of  our  times  with  the  stiff  old- 
fashioned  chairs  and  sofas  one  finds  in  the  old 
French   houses.     Merely   to   look   at   them   one 

[291] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

understands  why  our  grandfathers  and  grand- 
mothers always  sat  upright. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  Norman  cha- 
teaux is  "Abondant,"  in  the  department  of  the 
Eure-et-Loir,  belonging  until  very  recently  to 
the  Vallambrosa  family.  It  belonged  originally  to 
la  Duchesse  de  Tourzel,  gouvernante  des  Enfants 
de  France  (children  of  Louis  XVI  and  Marie  An- 
toinette). After  the  imprisonment  of  the  Royal 
Family,  Madame  de  Tourzel  retired  to  her  cha- 
teau d'Abondant  and  remained  there  all  through 
the  Revolution.  The  village  people  and  peasants 
adored  her  and  she  lived  there  peacefully  through 
all  those  terrible  days.  Neither  chateau  nor  park 
was  damaged  in  any  way,  although  she  was  known 
to  be  a  devoted  friend  and  adherent  of  the  un- 
fortunate Royal  Family.  A  band  of  half-drunken 
"patriots"  tried  to  force  their  way  into  the  park 
one  day,  with  the  intention  of  cutting  down  the 
trees  and  pillaging  the  chateau,  but  all  the  villagers 
instantly  assembled,  armed  with  pitchforks,  rusty 
old  guns  and  stones,  and  dispersed  the  rabble. 

Abondant  is  a  Louis  XV  chateau — ^very  large — 
seventeen  rooms  en  fa9ade — but  simple  in  its 
architecture.  The  Duchess  occupied  a  large  cor- 
ner room  on  the  ground-floor,  with  four  windows. 
The  ceiling  (which  was  very  high)  and  walls  cov- 
ered with  toiles  de  Jouy.     An  enormous  bed  a 

[292] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

baldaquin  was  trimmed  with  the  same  toile  and 
each  post  had  a  great  bunch  of  white  feathers  on 
top. 

In  1886,  when  one  of  my  friends  was  staying  at 
Abondant,  the  hangings  were  the  same  which  had 
been  there  all  through  the  Revolution.  She  told  me 
she  had  never  been  so  miserable  as  the  first  time 
she  stayed  at  the  chateau  during  the  lifetime  of  the 
late  Duchesse  de  Vallambrosa.  They  gave  her  the 
Duchesse  de  Tourzel's  room,  thinking  it  would 
interest  her  as  a  chambre  historique.  She  was 
already  nervous  at  sleeping  alone  on  the  ground- 
floor,  far  from  all  the  other  inmates  of  the  cha- 
teau. The  room  was  enormous — walls  nearly  five 
metres  high — the  bed  looked  like  an  island  in  the 
midst  of  space ;  there  was  very  little  furniture,  and 
the  white  feathers  on  the  bed-posts  nodded  and 
waved  in  the  dim  light.  She  scarcely  closed  her 
eyes,  could  not  reason  with  herself,  and  asked  the 
next  morning  to  have  something  less  magnificent 
and  more  modern. 

In  all  the  bedrooms  the  dressing-tables  were 
covered  with  den  telle  de  Binche*  of  the  epoch, 
and  all  the  mirrors  and  various  little  boxes  for 
powder,  rouge,  patches,  and  the  hundred  acces- 
sories for  a  fine  lady's  toilette  in  those  days, 
were   in  Vernis   Martin   absolutely   intact.     The 

*  Binche,  name  of  a  village  in  Belgium  where  the  lace  is  made. 

[293] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

drawing-rooms  still  had  their  old  silk  hangings — 
a  white  ground  covered  with  wreaths  of  flowers 
and  birds  with  wonderful  bright  plumage — hand- 
painted — ^framed  in  wood  of  two  shades  of  light 
green. 

The  big  drawing-room  was  entirely  panelled  in 
wood  of  the  same  light  green,  most  beautifully 
and  delicately  carved.  These  old  boiseries  were 
all  removed  when  the  chateau  was  sold.  After  the 
death  of  the  Duchesse  de  Tourzel  the  chateau 
went  to  her  niece,  the  Duchesse  des  Cars — who  left 
it  to  her  niece,  the  Duchesse  de  Vallambrosa,  a 
very  rare  instance,  in  France,  of  a  property  de- 
scending directly  through  several  generations  in 
the  female  line. 

It  was  sold  by  the  Vallambrosas.  The  old  wood 
panels  are  in  the  Paris  house  of  a  member  of 
that  family.  The  park  was  very  large  and  beauti- 
fully laid  out,  with  the  fine  trees  one  sees  all  over 
Normandy. 

Twenty  years  ago  a  salle  de  spectacle  "en  ver- 
dure" still  existed  in  the  park — the  seats  were  all 
in  grass;  the  coulisses  (side  scenes)  made  in  the 
trees  of  the  park — their  boughs  cut  and  trained 
into  shape,  to  represent  green  walls,  a  marble 
group  of  allegorical  figures  at  the  back.  It  was 
most  carefully  preserved — the  seats  of  the  amphi- 
theatre  looked   like   green   velvet   and   the    trees 

[^94] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

were  always  cut  in  the  same  curious  shapes.  It 
seemed  quite  a  fitting  part  of  the  fine  old  place, 
with  its  memories  of  past  fetes  and  splendours, 
before  the  whirlwind  of  liberty  and  equality  swept 
over  the  country. 

Many  of  the  chateaux  are  changing  hands.  The 
majorat  (entail)  doesn't  exist  in  France,  and  as 
the  fortunes  must  always  be  divided  among  the  chil- 
dren, it  becomes  more  and  more  diflScult  to  keep 
up  the  large  places.  Life  gets  dearer  every  day — 
fortunes  don't  increase — ^very  few  young  French- 
men of  the  upper  classes  do  anything.  The  only 
way  of  keeping  up  the  big  places  is  by  making  a 
rich  marriage — the  daughter  of  a  rich  banker  or 
industrial,  or  an  American. 

Our  cousins,  Comte  and  Comtesse  d'Y ,  have 

a  pretty  little  old  place  not  very  far  from  Villers- 
sur-Mer,  where  we  went  sometimes  for  sea-bath- 
ing. The  house  is  an  ordinary  square  white  stone 
building,  a  fine  terrace  with  a  flight  of  steps  lead- 
ing down  to  the  garden  on  one  side.  The  park 
is  delightful — many  splendid  old  trees.  Until  a 
few  years  ago  there  were  still  some  that  dated 
since  Louis  XIV.  The  last  one  of  that  age — a  fine 
oak,  with  wide  spreading  branches — died  about 
two  years  ago,  but  they  cannot  make  up  their 
minds  to  cut  it  down.    I  advised  them  to  leave  the 

[295] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

trunk  standing — (I  think,  by  degrees,  the  branches 
will  fall  as  they  are  quite  dead) — cover  it  with  ivy 
or  a  vine  of  some  kind,  and  put  a  notice  on  it  of  the 
age  of  the  tree. 

The  house  stands  high,  and  they  have  splendid 
views — on  one  side,  from  the  terrace,  a  great  ex- 
panse of  green  valley  looking  toward  Falaise — on 
the  other,  the  sea — a  beautiful,  blue  summer  sea, 
when  we  were  there  the  other  day. 

We  went  over  from  Villers  to  breakfast.  It  was 
late  in  the  season,  the  end  of  September — one  of 
those  bright  days  one  sometimes  has  in  September, 
when  summer  still  lingers  and  the  sun  gives  beau- 
tiful mellow  tints  to  everything  without  being 
strong  enough  to  make  one  feel  the  heat.  The  road 
was  lovely  all  the  way,  particularly  after  we  turned 
off  the  high  road  at  the  top  of  the  Houlgate  Hill. 
We  went  through  countless  little  Norman  lanes, 
quite  narrow,  sometimes — between  high  green 
banks  with  a  hedge  on  top,  and  the  trees  meeting 
over  our  heads — so  narrow  that  I  wondered  what 
would  happen  if  we  met  another  auto.  We  left 
the  sea  behind  us,  and  plunged  into  the  lovely 
green  valley  that  runs  along  back  of  the  coast  line. 
We  came  suddenly  on  the  gates  of  the  chateau, 
rather  a  sharp  turn.  There  was  a  broad  avenue 
with  fine  trees  leading  up  to  the  house — on  one 
side,  meadows  fenced  off  with  white  wooden  pal- 

[296] 


NORMAN   CHATEAUX 

ings  where  horses  and  cows  were  grazing — a 
pretty  lawn  before  the  house  with  beds  of  begonias, 
and  all  along  the  front,  high  raised  borders  of  red. 
geranium  which  looked  very  well  against  the  grey 
stone. 

We  found  a  family  party,  Comte  and  Comtesse 

d'Y ,  their  daughter  and  a  governess.    We  went 

upstairs  (a  nice  wooden  staircase  with  broad  shal- 
low steps)  to  an  end  room,  with  a  beautiful  view 
over  the  park,  where  we  got  out  of  all  the  wraps, 
veils,  and  glasses  that  one  must  have  in  an  open 
auto  if  one  wishes  to  look  respectable  when  one 
arrives,  and  went  down  at  once  to  the  hall  where 
the  family  was  waiting. 

The  dining-room  was  large  and  light,  high, 
wide  windows  and  beautiful  trees  wherever  one 
looked.     The  decoration  of  the  room  was  rather 

curious.  The  d' Y s  descend — like  many  Norman 

families — ^from  William  the  Conqueror,  and  there 
are  English  coats-of-arms  on  some  of  the  shields  on 
the  walls.  A  band  which  looks  like  fresco,  but  is 
really  painted  on  linen — ^very  cleverly  arranged 
with  some  composition  which  makes  it  look  like 
the  wall — ^rtins  straight  around  the  room  with  all 
sorts  of  curious  figures:  soldiers,  horses,  and  boats, 
copied  exactly  from  the  famous  Bayeux  tapestries, 
the  most  striking  episodes — the  departure  of  the 
Conqueror  from  Dives — ^thfe  embarkation  of  his 

[297] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

army  (the  cavalry — most  extraordinary  long 
queerly  shaped  horses  with  faces  like  people) — 
the  death  of  Harold — ^the  fighting  Bishop  Odo — 
brother  of  the  Conqueror,  who  couldn't  carry  a 
lance,  but  had  a  good  stout  stick  which  apparently 
did  good  service  as  various  Saxons  were  flying 
horizontally  through  the  air  as  he  and  his  steed 
advanced;  one  wonders  at  the  imagination  which 
could  have  produced  such  extraordinary  figures, 
as  certainly  no  men  or  beasts,  at  any  period  of  time, 
could  have  looked  like  those.  The  ships  were  less 
striking — had  rather  more  the  semblance  of  boats. 

However,  the  effect,  with  all  the  bright  colour- 
ing, is  very  good  and  quite  in  harmony  with  this 
part  of  the  country,  where  everything  teems  with 
legends  and  traditions  of  the  great  Duke.  They 
see  Falaise,  where  he  was  born,  from  their  terrace, 
sometimes.  We  didn't,  for  though  the  day  was 
beautiful,,  there  was  a  slight  haze  which  made  the 
far-oflf  landscapes  only  a  blue  line. 

After  breakfast  we  went  for  a  walk  in  the  park. 
They  have  arranged  it  very  well,  with  rustic 
bridges  and  seats  wherever  the  view  was  particu- 
larly fine.  We  saw  a  nice,  old,  red  brick  house, 
near  the  farm,  which  was  the  manoir  where  the 
Dowager  Countess  lives  now.  She  made  over  the 
chateau  to  her  son,  in  her  life  time,  on  condition 
that  he  would  keep  it  up  and  arrange  it,  which  he 

[298] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

has  done  very  well.  We  made  the  tour  of  the  park 
— passing  a  pretty  lodge  with  roses  and  creepers 

all  over  it  and  "Mairie"  put  upon  a  sign;  d'Y 

is  mayor  of  his  little  village  and  finds  it  convenient 
to  have  the  Mairie  at  his  own  gate.  We  rested 
a  little  in  the  drawing-room  before  going  back,  and 
he  showed  us  various  portraits  and  miniatures  of 
his  family  which  were  most  interesting.  Some 
of  the  miniatures  are  exactly  like  one  we  have  of 
father,  of  that  period  with  the  high  stock  and  tight- 
buttoned  coat.  The  light  was  lovely — so  soft  and 
warm — in  the  drawing-room,  and  as  there  were  no 
lace  curtains  or  vitrages,  and  the  silk  curtains  were 
drawn  back  from  the  high  plate  glass  windows, 
we  seemed  to  be  sitting  in  the  park  under  the 
trees.  They  gave  us  tea  and  the  good  little  cakes, 
"St.  Pierre,"  a  sort  of  "sable,"  for  which  all  the 
coast  is  famous. 

The  drive  home  was  enchanting,  with  a  lovely 
view  from  the  top  of  the  hill ;  a  beautiful  blue  sea 
at  our  feet  and  the  turrets  and  pointed  roofs  of  the 
Villers  houses  taking  every  possible  colour  from 
the  sunset  clouds. 

We  went  back  once  more  to  a  the  dansant  given 
for  her  seventeen-year-old  daughter.  It  was  a 
lovely  afternoon  and  the  place  looked  charming — 
the  gates  open — carriages  and  autos  arriving  in 
every  direction — people  came  from  a  great  dis- 

[299] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

tance  as  with  the  autos  no  one  hesitates  to  under- 
take a  drive  of  a  hundred  kilometres.  The  young 
people    danced    in    the    drawing-room — Madame 

d'Y had  taken  out  all  the  furniture,  and  the 

parents  and  older  people  sat  about  on  the  terrace 
where  there  were  plenty  of  seats  and  little  tea-tables. 
The  dining-room— with  an  abundant  buffet — was 
always  full;  one  arrives  with  a  fine  appetite  after 
whirling  for  two  or  three  hours  through  the  keen 
salt  air.  The  girls  all  looked  charming — ^the  white 
dresses,  bright  sashes,  and  big  picture  hats  are  so 
becoming.  They  were  dancing  hard  when  we  left, 
about  half  past  six,  and  it  was  a  pretty  sight  as  we 
looked  back  from  the  gates — long  lines  of  sun- 
light wavering  over  the  grass,  figures  in  white 
flitting  through  the  trees,  distant  strains  of  music, 
and  what  was  less  agreeable,  the  strident  sound  of 
a  sirene  on  some  of  the  autos.  They  are  detest- 
able things. 

We  were  very  comfortable  at  Villers  in  a  nice, 
clean  house  looking  on  the  sea,  with  broad  balco- 
nies at  every  story,  where  we  put  sofas  and  tables 
and  green  blinds,  using  them  as  extra  salons. 
We  were  never  in  the  house  except  to  eat  and  sleep. 
Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  the  French  (par- 
ticularly in  the  bourgeoise)  than  the  thorough  way 
in  which  they  do  their  month  at  the  sea-shore. 
They  generally  come  for  the  month  of  August. 

[  300  ] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

Holidays  have  begun  and  business,  of  all  kinds,  is 
slack.  Our  plage  was  really  a  curiosity.  There  is 
a  splendid  stretch  of  sand  beach — at  low  tide  one 
can  walk,  by  the  shore,  to  Trouville  or  Houlgate 
on  perfectly  firm,  dry  sand.  There  are  hundreds 
of  cabins  and  tents,  striped  red  and  white,  and 
umbrellas  on  the  beach,  and  all  day  long  whole 
families  sit  there.  They  all  bathe,  and  a  curious 
fashion  at  Villers  is  that  you  put  on  your  bathing 
dress  in  your  own  house — over  that  a  peignoir, 
generally  of  red  and  white  striped  cotton,  and  walk 
quite  calmly  through  the  streets  to  the  etablisse- 
ment.  Some  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  ma- 
ture years  are  not  to  their  advantage.  When  they 
can,  if  they  have  houses  with  a  terrace  or  garden, 
they  take  their  meals  outside,  and  as  soon  as  they 
have  breakfasted,  start  again  for  the  beach. 
When  it  is  low  tide  they  go  shrimp-fishing  or  walk 
about  in  the  shallow  water  looking  for  shells  and 
sea- weed.  When  it  is  high  tide,  all  sit  at  the  door 
of  their  tents  sewing,  reading,  or  talking — ^I  mean, 
of  course,  the  petite  bourgeoisie. 

At  other  places  on  the  coast,  Deauville  or  Houl- 
gate, the  life  is  like  Newport  or  Dinard,  or  any 
other  fashionable  sea-side  place,  with  automobiles, 
dinners,  dressing,  etc.  They  get  all  the  sea  air  and 
out-of-door  life  that  they  can  crowd  into  one 
month.     One  lady  said  to  me  one  day,  "I  can't 

[301] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN   FRANCE 

bathe,  but  I  take  a  *  bain  d'air '  every  day — I  sit  on 
the  rocks  as  far  out  in  the  water  as  I  can — take  off 
my  hat  and  my  shoes  and  stockings." 

There  is  a  great  clearing  out  always  by  the  first 
of  September  and  then  the  place  was  enchanting — 
bright,  beautiful  September  days,  one  could  still 
bathe,  the  sun  was  so  strong;  and  the  afternoons, 
with  just  a  little  chill  in  the  air,  were  delightful  for 
walking  and  driving.  There  was  a  pretty  Norman 
farm — ^just  over  the  plage — at  the  top  of  the  fa- 
laise  where  we  went  sometimes  for  tea.  They  gave 
us  very  good  tea,  milk,  and  cider,  and  excellent 
bread  and  butter  and  cheese.  We  sat  out  of  doors 
in  an  apple  orchard  at  little  tables — all  the  beasts 
of  the  establishment  in  the  same  field.  The  chick- 
ens and  sheep  surrounded  us,  were  evidently  ac- 
customed to  being  fed,  but  the  horses,  cows,  and 
calves  kept  quite  to  the  other  end.  We  saw  the 
girls  milking  the  cows  which,  of  course,  interested 
the  children  immensely. 

We  made  some  charming  excursions  in  the  auto 
— ^went  one  Saturday  to  Caen — such  a  pretty  road 
through  little  smiling  villages — every  house  with 
a  garden,  or  if  too  close  together  to  allow  that, 
there  were  pots  of  geraniums,  the  falling  kind,  in 
the  windows,  which  made  a  red  curtain  dropping 
down  over  the  walls.  We  stopped  at  Lisieux — a 
quaint  old  Norman  town,  with  a  fine  cathedral 

[302] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

and  curious  houses  with  gables  and  towers — one 
street  most  picturesque,  very  narrow,  with  wooden 
houses,  their  projecting  roofs  coming  so  far  over 
the  street  one  could  hardly  see  the  sky  in  some 
places.  There  were  all  kinds  of  balconies  and 
cornices  most  elaborately  carved — the  wood  so 
dark  one  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  original 
figures  and  devices,  but  some  of  them  were  extraor- 
dinary, dragons,  and  enormous  winged  animals. 
We  did  not  linger  very  long  as  we  were  in  our  new 
auto — a  Martini  hill-climber — ^built  in  Switzer- 
land and,  of  course  (like  all  automobilists),  were 
anxious  to  make  as  fast  a  run  as  possible  between 
Villers  and  Caen. 

The  approach  to  Caen  is  not  particularly  inter- 
esting— the  country  is  flat,  the  road  running 
through  poplar-bordered  fields — one  does  not  see 
it  at  all  until  one  gets  quite  near,  and  then  suddenly 
beautiful  towers  and  steeples  seem  to  rise  out  of 
the  green  meadows.  It  was  Saturday — market 
day — and  the  town  was  crowded — every  descrip- 
tion of  vehicle  in  the  main  street  and  before  the 
hotel,  two  enormous  red  60-horse-power  Mercedes 
— ^farmers'  gigs  and  donkey  carts  with  cheeses  and 
butter — a  couple  generally  inside — ^the  man  with 
his  blue  smock  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  the 
woman  with  a  high,  clean,  stiflf-starched  muslin 
cap,  a  knit  shawl  over  her  shoulders.    They  were 

[303] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

not  in  the  least  discomposed  by  the  bustle  and  the 
automobiles,  never  thought  of  getting  out  of  the 
way — ^jogged  comfortably  on  keeping  to  their  side 
of  the  road. 

We  left  the  auto  at  the  hotel  and  found  many 
others  in  the  court-yard,  and  various  friends.   The 

d'Y s  had  come  over  from   Grangues   (their 

place).  He  is  Conseiller  General  of  Calvados,  and 
market  day,  in  a  provincial  town,  is  an  excellent 
occasion  for  seeing  one's  electors.  There  were  also 
some  friends  from  Trouville-Deauville,  most  of 
them  in  autos — some  in  light  carriages.  We  tried 
to  make  a  rendezvous  for  tea  at  the  famous  patis- 
sier's  (who  sends  his  cakes  and  bonbons  over  half 
the  department),  but  that  was  not  very  practical, 
as  they  had  all  finished  what  they  had  to  do  and 
we  had  not  even  begun  our  sightseeing.    However, 

d'Y told  us  he  would  leave  our  names  at  the 

tea-room,  a  sort  of  club  they  have  established  over 
the  patissier's,  where  we  would  be  quieter  and 
better  served  than  in  the  shop  which  would  cer- 
tainly be  crowded  on  Saturday  afternoon.  We 
walked  about  till  we  were  dead  tired. 

St.  Pierre  is  a  fine  old  Norman  church  with 
beautiful  tower  and  steeple.  It  stands  fairly  well 
in  the  Place  St.  Pierre,  but  the  houses  are  much 
too  near.  It  should  have  more  space  around  it. 
There  was  a  market  going  on,  on  the  other  side  of 

[304] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

the  square — fruit,  big  apples  and  pears,  flowers 
and  fish  being  heaped  up  together.  The  apples 
looked  tempting,  such  bright  red  ones. 

We  went  to  the  two  abbayes — both  of  them 
quite  beautiful — St.  Etienne — ^Abbaye  aux  Hommes 
was  built  by  William  the  Conqueror,  who  was  origi- 
nally buried  there.  It  is  very  grand — quite  simple, 
but  splendid  proportions — a  fitting  resting-place  for 
the  great  soldier,  who,  however,  was  not  allowed 
to  sleep  his  last  sleep,  undisturbed,  in  the  city  he 
loved  so  well.  His  tomb  was  desecrated  several 
times  and  his  remains  lost  in  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion. 

We  went  on  to  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames  which  is 
very  different ;  smaller — not  nearly  so  simple.  The 
fa9ade  is  very  fine  with  two  square  towers  most 
elaborately  carved,  the  steeples  have  long  since  dis- 
appeared; and  there  are  richly  ornamented  galleries 
and  balustrades  in  the  interior  of  the  church,  not 
at  all  the  high  solemn  vaulted  aisles  of  the  Abbaye 
aux  Hommes.  It  was  founded  by  Queen  Mathilde, 
wife  of  William  the  Conqueror,  and  she  is  buried 
there — a  perfectly  simple  tomb  with  an  inscription 
in  Latin.  There  was  at  one  time  a  very  handsome 
monument,  but  it  was  destroyed,  like  so  many 
others,  during  the  Revolution,  and  the  remains 
placed,  some  years  after,  in  the  stone  coflSn  where 
they  now  rest.    We  hadn't  time  to  see  the  many 

[  305  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

interesting  things  in  the  churches  and  in  the  town, 
as  it  was  getting  late  and  we  wanted  some  tea 
before  we  started  back.  We  found  our  way  to  the 
patissier's  quite  easily,  but  certainly  couldn't  have 

had  any  tea  if  d'Y had  not  told  us  to  use  his 

name  and  ask  for  the  club-room.  The  little  shop 
was  crowded — people  standing  and  making  frantic 
dashes  into  the  kitchen  for  chocolate  and  muffins. 
The  club-room  upstairs  was  quite  nice — painted 
white,  a  good  glass  so  that  we  could  arrange  our 
hair  a  little,  one  or  two  tables — and  we  were 
attended  to  at  once.  They  brought  us  the  spe- 
cialite  of  the  place — light,  hot  brioches  with 
grated  ham  inside — very  good  and  very  indigestible. 

We  went  home  by  a  different  road,  but  it  looked 
just  like  the  other — ^fewer  little  hamlets,  perhaps, 
and  great  pasture  fields,  filled  with  fine  specimens 
of  Norman  dray  horses  and  mares  with  long-legged 
colts  running  alongside  of  them.  It  was  late 
when  we  got  home.  The  lighthouses  of  Honfleur 
and  Havre  made  a  long  golden  streak  stretching 
far  out  to  sea,  and  the  great  turning  flashlight  of 
St.  Adresse  was  quite  dazzling. 

We  went  back  over  the  same  ground  two  or  three 
days  later  on  our  way  to  Bayeux.  The  town  is  not 
particularly  interesting,  but  the  cathedral  is  beau- 
tiful and  in  wonderful  preservation — the  columns 
are  very  grand — every  capital  exquisitely  carved 

[306] 


NORMAN  CHATEAUX 

and  no  two  alike.  Our  guide,  a  very  talkative  per- 
son— unlike  the  generality  of  Norman  peasants, 
who  are  usually  taciturn — was  very  anxious  to 
show  us  each  column  in  detail  and  explain  all  the 
really  beautiful  carving,  but  we  were  rather  hur- 
ried as  some  of  the  party  were  going  to  lunch  at 
Barbieville — Comte  Foy's  chateau. 

On  the  same  place  as  the  cathedral  is  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  with  the  wonderful  tapestries  worked  by 
the  Queen  Mathilde,  wife  of  William  the  Con- 
queror. They  are  really  most  extraordinary  and 
so  well  preserved.  The  colours  look  as  if  they  had 
been  painted  yesterday.  I  hadn't  seen  them  for 
years  and  had  forgotten  the  curious  shapes  and 
vivid  colouring.  We  went  to  one  of  the  lace  shops. 
The  Bayeux  lace  is  very  pretty,  made  with  the 
"fuseau,"  very  fine — a  mixture  of  Valenciennes  and 
Mechlin.  It  is  very  strong,  though  it  looks  deli- 
cate. The  dentellieres  still  do  a  very  good  business. 
The  little  girls  begin  to  work  as  soon  as  they  can 
thread  their  needle,  and  follow  a  simple  pattern. 

The  F.'s  enjoyed  their  day  at  Barbieville,  Comte 
Foy's  chateau,  very  much.  They  said  the  house 
was  nothing  remarkable — a  large  square  building, 
but  the  park  was  original.  Comte  Foy  is  a  racing 
man,  breeds  horses,  and  has  his  "haras"  on  his 
place.     The  park  is  all  cut  up  into  paddocks,  each 

1307] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

one  separated  from  the  other  by  a  hedge  and  all 
connected  by  green  paths.  F.  said  the  effect  from 
the  terrace  was  quite  charming;  one  saw  nothing  but 
grass  and  hedges  and  young  horses  and  colts  run- 
ning about.  Comtesse  Foy  and  her  daughters 
were  making  lace.  The  girls  went  in  to  Bayeux 
three  or  four  times  a  week  and  took  lessons  from 
one  of  the  dentellieres. 


[308] 


XI 

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

ONE  year  we  were  at  Boulogne  for  the  summer 
in  a  funny  little  house,  in  a  narrow  street 
just  behind  the  port  and  close  to  the  Casino  and 
beach.  There  were  a  great  many  people — all  the 
hotels  full  and  quantities  of  automobiles  passing 
all  day.  The  upper  part  of  the  town  is  just  like 
any  other  seaside  place — ^rows  of  hotels  and  villas 
facing  the  sea — some  of  the  houses  built  into  the 
high  green  cliff  which  rises  steep  and  almost  men- 
acing behind.  Already  parts  of  the  cliff  have 
crumbled  away  in  some  place  and  the  proprietors 
of  the  villas  find  some  difficulty  in  letting  them. 
The  front  rooms  on  the  sea  are  charming,  but  the 
back  ones — directly  under  the  cliff — with  no  air  or 
sun,  are  not  very  tempting.  There  is  a  fine  digue 
and  raised  broad  walk  all  along  the  sea  front,  with 
flowers,  seats,  and  music  stand. 

It  is  a  perfectly  safe  beach  for  children,  for 
though  the  channel  is  very  near  and  the  big  Eng- 
lish boats  pass  close  to  the  shore,  there  are  several 

[309] 


^ 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

sand  banks  which  make  the  beach  quite  safe, 
and  from  seven  in  the  morning  till  seven  at  night 
there  are  two  boats  au  large  and  two  men  on 
the  beach,  with  ropes,  life-preservers,  and  horns 
which  they  blow  whenever  they  think  the  bathers 
are  too  far  out.  There  is  an  "Inspecteur  de  la 
Plage,"  a  regular  French  ojfficial  with  a  gold  band 
on  his  cap,  who  is  a  most  important  and  amiable 
gentleman  and  sees  that  no  one  is  annoyed  in  any 
way.  We  made  friends  with  him  at  once,  moy- 
ennant  une  piece  de  dix  francs,  and  he  looked  after 
us,  saw  that  our  tents  were  put  up  close  to  the 
water,  no  others  near,  and  warned  off  stray  children 
and  dogs  who  were  attracted  by  our  children's  toys 
and  cakes. 

The  plage  is  a  pretty  ssglit  on  a  bright  day. 
There  are  hundreds  of  tents — all  bright-coloured. 
When  one  approaches  Boulogne  from  the  sea  the 
beach  looks  like  a  parterre  of  flowers.  Near  the 
Casino  there  are  a  quantity  of  old-fashioned  ram- 
shackly  bathing  cabins  on  wheels,  with  very  small 
boys  cracking  their  whips  and  galloping  up  and 
down,  from  the  digue  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  on 
staid  old  horses  who  know  their  work  perfectly — 
put  themselves  at  once  into  the  shafts  of  the  car- 
riages— ^never  go  beyond  a  certain  limit  in  the  sea. 

All  the  bathers  are  prudent.  It  is  rare  to  see 
any  one  swimming  out  or  diving  from  a  boat.     A 

[310] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

policeman  presides  at  the  public  bathing  place  and 
there  are  three  or  four  baigneurs  and  baigneuses 
who  take  charge  of  the  timid  bathers;  one  won- 
derful old  woman,  bare-legged,  of  course,  a  hand- 
kerchief on  her  head,  a  flannel  blouse  and  a  very 
short  skirt  made  of  some  water-proof  material  that 
stood  out  stiff  all  around  her  and  shed  the  water — 
she  was  the  premiere  baigneuse — seventy  years 
old  and  had  been  baigneuse  at  Boulogne  for  fifty- 
one  years.  She  had  bathed  C.  as  a  child,  and  was 
delighted  to  see  her  again  and  wildly  interested  in 
her  two  children. 

There  were  donkeys,  of  course,  and  goats.  The 
children  knew  the  goat  man  well  and  all  ran  to 
him  with  their  mugs  as  soon  as  they  heard  his  pe- 
culiar whistle.  They  held  their  mugs  close  under 
the  goat  so  that  they  got  their  milk  warm  and 
foaming,  as  it  was  milked  directly  into  their  mugs. 
The  goats  were  quite  tame — one  came  always 
straight  to  our  tents  and  lay  down  there  till  his 
master  came.  Every  one  wanted  to  feed  them  with 
cakes  and  bits  of  sugar,  but  he  would  never  let  them 
have  anything  for  fear  it  should  spoil  their  milk. 

Another  friend  was  the  cake  man,  dressed  all  in 
white,  with  his  basket  of  brioches  and  madeleines 
on  his  head — ^then  there  were  the  inevitable  Afri- 
cans with  fezes  on  their  heads  and  bundles  of  silks 
— crepes-de-chine  and  ostrich  feathers,  that  one 

[311] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

sees  at  every  plage.  I  don't  think  they  did  much 
business. 

The  public  was  not  all  distinguished.  We  often 
wondered  where  the  people  were  who  lived  in  the 
hotels  (all  very  expensive)  and  villas,  for,  with 
very  rare  exceptions,  it  was  the  most  ordinary 
petite  bourgeoisie  that  one  saw  on  the  beach — a 
few  Americans,  a  great  many  fourth-rate  English. 
They  were  a  funny  contrast  to  the  people  who 
came  for  the  Concours  Hippique,  and  the  Race 
Week.  One  saw  then  a  great  influx  of  automo- 
biles— there  were  balls  at  the  Casino  and  many 
pretty,  well-dressed  women,  of  both  worlds,  much 
en  evidence.  The  chatelains  from  the  neighbour- 
ing chateaux  appeared  and  brought  their  guests. 

For  that  one  week  Boulogne  was  quite  fashion- 
able. The  last  Sunday  of  the  races  was  a  terrible 
day.  There  was  an  excursion  train  from  Paris  and 
two  excursion  steamers  from  England.  We  were 
on  the  quay  when  the  English  boats  came  in  and  it 
was  amusing  to  see  the  people.  Some  of  them  had 
left  London  at  six  in  the  morning.  There  were  all 
sorts  and  kinds,  wonderful  sportsmen  with  large 
checked  suits,  caps  and  field  glasses  slung  over 
their  shoulders — a  great  many  pretty  girls — ^gener- 
ally in  white.  All  had  bags  and  baskets  with  bath- 
ing suits  and  luncheon,  and  in  an  instant  they  were 
swarming  over  the  plage — already  crowded  with 

[312] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

the  Paris  excursionists.  They  didn't  interfere  with 
us  much  as  we  never  went  to  the  beach  on  Sunday. 
F.  was  fishing  all  day  with  some  of  his  friends 
in  a  pilot  boat.  (They  brought  back  three  hun- 
dred mackerel),  had  a  beautiful  day — the  sea 
quite  calm  and  the  fish  rising  in  quantities.  C.  and 
I,  with  the  children,  went  off  to  the  Hardelot 
woods  in  the  auto.  We  established  ourselves  on 
a  hillside,  pines  all  around  us,  the  sea  at  our  feet, 
a  beautiful  blue  sky  overhead,  and  not  a  sound 
to  break  the  stillness  except  sometimes,  in  the 
distance,  the  sirene  of  a  passing  auto.  We  had 
our  tea-basket,  found  a  nice  clear  space  to  make  a 
fire,  which  we  did  very  prudently,  scooping  out  a 
great  hole  in  the  ground  and  making  a  sort  of 
oven.  It  was  very  diflScult  to  keep  the  children 
from  tumbling  into  the  hole  as  they  were  rolling 
about  on  the  soft  ground,  but  we  got  home  with- 
out any  serious  detriment  to  life  or  limb. 

The  life  in  our  quarter  on  the  quais  is  very  dif- 
ferent, an  extraordinary  animation  and  move- 
ment. There  are  hundreds  of  vessels  of  every  de- 
scription in  the  port.  All  day  and  all  night  boats 
are  coming  in  and  going  out:  The  English  steam- 
ers with  their  peculiar,  dull,  penetrating  whistle 
that  one  hears  at  a  great  distance — steam  tugs  that 
take  passengers  and  luggage  out  to  the  Atlantic 

[313] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

liners,  lying  just  outside  the  digue — yachts,  pilot 
boats,  easily  distinguished  by  a  broad  white  line 
around  their  hulls,  and  a  number  very  conspicu- 
ously printed  in  large  black  letters  on  their  white 
sails,  "baliseurs,"  smart-looking  little  craft  that 
take  buoys  out  to  the  various  points  where  they 
must  be  laid.  One  came  in  the  other  day  with 
two  large,  red,  bell-shaped  buoys  on  her  deck 
which  made  a  great  effect  from  a  distance;  we 
were  standing  on  the  pier,  and  couldn't  imagine 
what  they  were;  "avisos"  (dispatch-boats),  with 
their  long,  narrow  flamme,  which  marks  them  as 
war  vessels,  streaming  out  in  the  wind.  Their 
sailors  looked  very  picturesque  in  white  jer- 
seys and  blue  berets  with  red  pompons.  Small 
steamers  that  run  along  the  coast  from  Calais 
to  Dunkirk — others,  cargo  boats,  broad  and  deep 
in  the  water,  that  take  fruit  and  eggs  over 
to  England.  The  baskets  of  peaches,  plums, 
and  apricots  look  most  appetizing  when  they  are 
taken  on  board.  The  steamers  look  funny  when 
they  come  back  with  empty  baskets,  quantities  of 
them,  piled  up  on  the  decks,  tied  to  the  masts. 
Many  little  pleasure  boats — flat,  broad  rowing 
boats  that  take  one  across  the  harbour  to  the 
Gare  Maritime  (which  is  a  long  way  around  by 
the  bridge),  a  most  uncomfortable  performance 
at  low  tide,  as  you  go  down  long,  steep,  slippery 

[314] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

steps  with  no  railing,  and  have  to  scramble  into 
the  boat  as  well  as  you  can. 

Of  course,  there  are  fishing-boats  of  every  de- 
scription, from  the  modest  little  sloop  with  one 
mast  and  small  sail  to  the  big  steam  trawlers 
which  are  increasing  every  year  and  gradually  re- 
placing the  old-fashioned  sailing-boat.  One  al- 
ways knows  when  the  fishing-boats  are  arriving  by 
the  crowd  that  assembles  on  the  quay;  that  pe- 
culiar population  that  seems  natural  to  all  ports, 
young,  able-bodied  sailors,  full  of  interest  about 
the  run  and  the  cargo — old  men  in  blue  jerseys 
who  sit  on  the  wall,  in  the  sun,  all  day,  and  recount 
their  experiences — ^various  oflScials  with  gold  bands 
on  their  caps,  men  with  hand  carts  waiting  to 
carry  off  the  fish  and  fishwives — their  baskets 
strapped  on  their  backs — hoping  for  a  haul  of  crabs 
and  shrimps  or  fish  from  some  of  the  small  boats. 

All  the  cargo  of  the  trawlers  is  sold  before 
they  arrive  to  the  marieurs  (men  who  deal  exclu- 
sively in  fish),  and  who  have  a  contract  with  the 
big  boats.  There  is  no  possibility  of  having  a  good 
fish  except  at  the  Halles,  where  one  can  some- 
times get  some  from  one  of  the  smaller  boats,  which 
fish  on  their  own  account  and  have  no  contract; 
but  even  those  are  generally  sold  at  once  to  small 
dealers,  who  send  them  off  to  the  neighbouring 
inland  towns.     In  fact,  the  proprietor  of  one  of 

[315] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

the  big  hotels  told  me  he  had  to  get  his  fish  from 
Paris  and  paid  Paris  prices. 

^  The  fishwives,  the  young  ones  particularly,  are 
a  fine-looking  lot — tall,  straight,  with  feet  and  legs 
bare,  a  little  white  cap  or  woollen  fichu  on  their 
heads — they  carry  ofiF  their  heavy  baskets  as 
lightly  as  possible,  taking  them  to  the  Halles  where 
all  the  fish  must  go.  They  are  quite  a  feature  of 
Boulogne,  the  young  fishwives.  One  sees  them 
often  at  low  tide — ^fishing  for  shrimps,  carrying 
their  heavy  nets  on  their  shoulders  and  flat  baskets 
strapped  on  their  backs  into  which  they  tip  the  fish 
very  cleverly.  They  are  quite  distinct  from  the 
Boulonaises  matelottes,  who  are  a  step  higher  in 
the  social  scale.  They  always  wear  a  wonderful 
white  cap  with  a  high  starched  frill  which  stands 
out  around  their  faces  like  an  aureole.  They,  too, 
wear  short  full  skirts,  but  have  long  stockings  and 
very  good  stout  shoes — not  sabots — which  are  also 
disappearing.  They  turn  out  very  well  on  Sun- 
days. I  saw  a  lot  of  them  the  other  day  coming 
out  of  church — all  with  their  caps  scrupulously 
clean — short,  full,  black  or  brown  skirts;  aprons 
ironed  in  a  curious  way — across  the  apron — mak- 
ing little  waves  (our  maids  couldn't  think  what 
had  happened  to  their  white  aprons  the  first  time 
they  came  back  from  the  wash — thought  there  had 
been  some  mistake  and  they  had  some  one's  else 

[316] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

clothes — they  had  to  explain  to  the  washerwoman 
that  they  liked  their  aprons  ironed  straight) ;  long 
gold  earrings  and  gold  chains.  They  are  hand- 
some women,  dark  with  straight  features,  a  serious 
look  in  their  eyes.  Certainly  people  who  live  by  the 
sea  have  a  different  expression — there  is  something 
grave,  almost  sad  in  their  faces,  which  one  doesn't 
see  in  dwellers  in  sunny  meadows  and  woodlands. 
We  went  this  morning  with  the  Baron  de  G., 
who  is  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  fishing  companies 
here,  to  see  one  of  their  boats  come  in  and  unload. 
It  was  a  steam  trawler,  with  enormous  nets,  that 
had  been  fishing  off  the  English  coast  near  Land's 
End.  There  were  quite  a  number  of  people 
assembled  on  the  quay — a  policeman,  a  garde  du 
port,  an  agent  of  the  company,  and  the  usual  lot  of 
people  who  are  always  about  when  a  fishing-boat 
comes  in.  Her  cargo  seemed  to  be  almost  entirely 
of  fish  they  call  here  saumon  blanc.  They  were 
sending  up  great  baskets  of  them  from  the  hold 
where  they  were  very  well  packed  in  ice;  half- 
way up  they  were  thrown  into  a  big  tub  which 
cleaned  them — took  off  the  salt  and  gave  them  a 
silvery  look.  They  are  put  by  hundreds  into 
hand-carts  which  were  waiting  and  carried  off  at 
once  to  the  Halles.  They  had  brought  in  3,500 
fish,  but  didn't  seem  to  think  they  had  made  a 
very  good  haul.    The  whole  cargo  had  been  sold 

[317] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

to  a  marieur  and  was  sent  off  at  once,  by  him,  all 
over  the  country. 

Other  boats  were  also  sending  their  cargo  to 
the  Halles.  They  had  all  kinds  of  fish — soles, 
mackerel,  and  a  big  red  fish  I  didn't  know  at  all. 
I  wouldn't  have  believed,  if  I  had  not  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes,  that  such  a  bright-coloured  fish 
could  exist.  However,  a  viery  sharp  little  boy,  who 
was  standing  near  and  who  answered  all  my  ques- 
tions, told  me  they  were  rougets.  We  went  on  to 
the  Halles — a  large  gray  stone  building  facing  the 
sea — rather  imposing  with  a  square  tower  on  top, 
from  which  one  can  see  a  long  way  out  to  sea  and 
signal  incoming  fishing-boats.  It  was  very  clean 
— water  running  over  the  white  marble  slabs,  and 
women,  with  pails  and  brushes,  washing  and  wip- 
ing the  floor.  It  is  evidently  a  place  that  attracts 
strangers ;  many  tourists  were  walking  about — one 
couple,  American,  I  think,  passing  through  in  an 
automobile  and  laying  in  a  stock  of  lobsters  and 
crabs  (the  big  deep-sea  crabs)  and  rougets.  The 
man  rather  hesitated  about  leaving  his  auto  in  the 
streets ;  they  had  no  chauffeur  with  them,  tried  to 
find  a  boy  who  would  watch  it.  For  a  wonder 
none  was  forthcoming,  but  two  young  fishwives, 
who  were  standing  near,  said  they  would ;  when  the 
man  came  back  with  his  purchases  he  gave  each 
of  them  a  five-franc  piece,  which  munificence  so 

[318] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

astounded  them  that  they  could  hardly  find  words 
to  thank  him. 

Quantities  of  fish  of  all  kinds  had  arrived — some 
being  sold  a  la  criee,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
understand  the  prices  or  the  names  of  the  fish — at 
least  for  us.  The  buying  public  seemed  to  know  all 
about  it.  The  fishwives  were  very  busy  standing 
behind  the  marble  slabs  with  short  thick  knives, 
with  which  they  cut  off  pieces  of  the  large  fish 
when  the  customer  didn't  want  a  whole  one,  and 
laughing  and  joking  with  every  one.  Here  and 
there  we  saw  a  modern  young  person  in  a  fancy 
blouse,  her  hair  dressed  and  waved,  with  little 
combs,  but  there  were  not  many.  We  bought 
some  soles  and  shrimps.  M.  de  G.  tried  to 
bargain  a  little  for  us,  but  the  women  were  so 
smiling  and  so  sure  we  didn't  know  anything 
about  it,  or  what  the  current  price  of  the  fish  was, 
that  we  had  not  much  success. 

The  trawlers  are  gradually  taking  away  all  the 
trade  from  the  old-fashioned  fishing-boats.  They 
go  faster,  carry  more  and  larger  nets,  and  are,  of 
course,  stronger  sea-boats.  They  are  not  much 
more  expensive.  They  burn  coal  of  an  inferior  qual- 
ity and  their  machinery  is  of  the  simplest  descrip- 
tion. There  is  not  the  loss  of  life  with  them  that 
there  must  be  always  with  the  smaller  sailing-boats. 

Newfoundland  is  the  most  dangerous  fishing 
[319] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

ground,  as  the  men  have  so  much  to  contend  with — 
the  passing  of  transatlantic  liners  and  the  cold, 
thick  fogs  which  come  up  off  the  banks — all  of 
them  prefer  the  Iceland  fishing.  The  cold  is 
greater,  but  there  is  much  less  fog  and  very  few  big 
boats  to  be  met  en  route.  Few  of  the  Boulogne 
boats  go  to  Newfoundland.  It  is  generally  the 
boats  from  Fecamp  and  some  of  the  Breton  ports 
that  monopolize  the  fishing  off  the  Banks.  It 
seems  that  men  often  die  from  the  cold  and  ex- 
posure in  these  waters.  From  the  old-fashioned 
sailing-boats  they  usually  send  them  off — two  by 
two  in  a  dory  (they  don't  fish  from  the  big  boats) ; 
they  start  early,  fish  all  day;  if  no  fog  comes  up, 
they  are  all  right  and  get  back  to  their  boats  at 
dark,  but  if  a  sudden  fog  comes  on  they  often 
can't  find  their  boats  and  remain  out  all  night, 
half  frozen.  One  night  they  can  stand,  but  two 
nights'  cold  and  exposure  are  always  fatal.  When 
the  fog  lifts  the  little  boat  is  sometimes  quite  close 
to  the  big  one,  but  the  men  are  dead — ^frozen. 
M.  de  G.  tells  us  all  sorts  of  terrible  experiences 
that  he  has  heard  from  his  men,  and  yet  they  all 
like  the  life — wouldn't  lead  any  other,  and  have  the 
greatest  contempt  for  a  landsman. 

There  is  a  fruit  stall  at  the  corner  of  our  street, 
where  we  stop  every  morning  and  buy  fruit  on  our 

[320] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

way  down  to  the  beach.  We  have  become  most 
intimate  with  the  two  women  who  are  there.  One, 
a  young  one  with  small  children  about  the  age  of 
ours  (to  whom  she  often  gives  grapes  or  cherries 
when  they  pass),  and  the  other  a  little, old,  wrinkled, 
brown-faced  grandmother,  who  sits  all  day,  in  all 
weathers,  under  an  awning  made  of  an  old  sail 
and  helps  her  daughter.  She  has  very  bright  eyes 
and  looks  as  keen  and  businesslike  as  the  young 
woman.  She  told  us  the  other  day  she  had  jorty 
grandchildren — all  the  males,  men  and  boys,  sail- 
ors and  fishermen  and  "mousses" — many  of  the 
girls  fishwives  and  the  mothers  married  to  fisher- 
men or  sailors.  I  asked  her  why  some  of  them 
hadn't  tried  to  do  something  else — ^there  were  so 
many  things  people  could  do  in  these  days  to  earn 
their  living  without  leading  such  a  rough  life.  She 
was  quite  astonished  at  my  suggestion — ^replied 
that  they  had  lived  on  the  sea  all  their  lives  and 
never  thought  of  doing  anything  else.  Her  own 
husband  had  been  a  fisherman — belonged  to  one 
of  the  Iceland  boats — went  three  or  four  times  a 
year  regularly — didn't  come  back  one  year — no 
tidings  ever  came  of  ship  or  crew — it  was  God's 
will,  and  when  his  time  came  he  had  to  go,  whether 
in  his  bed  or  on  his  boat.  And  she  brought  up  all 
her  sons  to  be  sailors  or  fishermen,  and  when  two 
were  lost  at  sea,  accepted  that,  too,  as  part  of  her 

[321] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

lot,  only  said  it  was  hard,  sometimes,  for  the  poor 
women  when  the  winter  storms  came  and  the  wind 
was  howling  and  the  waves  thundering  on  the 
beach,  and  they  thought  of  their  men  ("mon 
homme"  she  always  called  her  husband  when 
speaking  of  him),  wet  and  cold,  battling  for  their 
lives.  I  talked  to  her  often  and  the  words  of  the 
old  song, 

"  But  men  must  work  and  women  must  weep. 
Though  storms  be  sudden,  and  waters  deep. 
And  the  harbour  bar  be  moaning,'* 

came  back  to  me  more  than  once,  for  the  floating 
buoy  at  the  end  of  the  jetty  makes  a  continuous 
dull  melancholy  sound  when  the  sea  is  at  all 
rough,  and  when  it  is  foggy  (the  channel  fogs  come 
up  very  quickly)  we  hear  fog  horns  all  around  us  and 
quite  distinctly  the  big  sirene  of  Cap  Gris  Nez, 
which  sends  out  its  long  wailing  note  over  the  sea. 
It  is  very  powerful  and  is  heard  at  a  long  distance. 
The  shops  on  the  quay  are  an  unfailing  source 
of  interest  to  me.  I  make  a  tour  there  every  morn- 
ing before  I  go  down  to  the  beach.  They  have 
such  a  wonderful  variety  of  things.  Shells  of  all 
sizes — enormous  pink  ones  like  those  I  always 
remember  standing  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the 
nursery  at  home — brought  back  by  a  sailor  brother 
who  used  to  tell  us  to  put  them  to  our  ears  and  we 
would  hear  the  noise  of  the  sea — and  beautiful 

[  322  ] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

delicate  little  mother-of-pearl  shells  that  are  almost 
jewels — wonderful  frames,  boxes,  and  pincushions, 
made  of  shells;  big  spoons,  too,  with  a  figure  or  a 
ship  painted  on  them — knives,  penholders,  paper- 
cutters  and  brooches,  made  out  of  the  bones  of  big 
fish — tassels  of  bright-coloured  sea-weed,  corals, 
vanilla  beans — curiously  worked  leather  belts — 
some  roughly  carved  ivory  crosses,  umbrella 
handles,  canes  of  every  description,  pipes,  long  gold 
earrings,  parrots,  little  birds  with  bright-coloured 
feathers,  monkeys — an  extraordinary  collection. 

I  am  sure  one  would  find  many  curious  speci- 
mens if  one  could  penetrate  into  the  back  of  the 
old  shops  and  pull  the  things  about — evidently 
sailors  from  all  parts  of  the  world  have  passed  at 
Boulogne.  Still  I  don't  hear  many  foreign  lan- 
guages spoken — almost  always  French  and  Eng- 
lish; occasionally  a  dark  face,  with  bright  black  eyes, 
strikes  one.  We  saw  two  Italians  the  other  day, 
talking  and  gesticulating  hard,  shivering,  too,  with 
woollen  comforters  tied  over  their  caps.  There 
was  a  cold  fog  and  we  were  all  wrapped  up.  It 
must  be  awful  weather  for  Southerners  who  only 
live  when  the  sun  shines  and  go  to  bed  when  it  is 
cold  and  gray.  There  are  all  sorts  of  itinerants, 
petits  marchands,  on  the  other  side  of  the  quay, 
looking  on  the  water — old  women  with  fruit  and 
cakes — children  with  crabs  and  shrimps — dolls  in 

[323] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

Boulonaise  costume — fishwives  and  matelottes, 
stalls  with  every  description  of  food,  tea,  coffee, 
chocolate,  sandwiches,  and  fried  potatoes.  The 
children  bought  some  potatoes  the  other  day 
wrapped  up  in  brown  paper — quite  a  big  portion 
for  two  sous — and  said  they  were  very  good. 

The  quais  are  very  broad,  happily,  for  every- 
thing is  put  there.  One  morning  there  were  quan- 
tities of  barrels.  I  asked  what  was  in  them.  Salt, 
they  told  me,  for  the  herring-boats  which  are 
starting  these  days.  Nets,  coils  of  ropes,  big  sails, 
baskets,  boxes,  odd  bits  of  iron,  some  anchors — 
one  has  rather  to  pick  one's  way.  An  automobile 
has  been  standing  there  for  three  or  four  days.  I 
asked  if  that  was  going  to  Iceland  on  a  trawler,  but 
the  man  answered  quite  simply,  "  Oh,  no,  Madame, 
what  should  we  do  with  an  automobile  in  a  fishing- 
boat.  It  belongs  to  the  owner  of  one  of  the  ships, 
and  has  been  here  en  panne  waiting  till  he  can 
have  it  repaired." 
•  We  went  one  evening  to  the  Casino  to  see  a  "  bal 
des  matelottes."  It  was  a  curious  sight — a  band 
playing  on  a  raised  stand — a  broad  space  cleared 
all  round  it  and  lots  of  people  dancing.  The  great 
feature,  of  course,  was  the  matelottes.  Their  cos- 
tumes were  very  effective — they  all  wore  short,  very 
full  skirts,  different  coloured  jackets,  short,  with 
a  belt,  very  good  stout  shoes  and  stockings,  and 

[324] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

their  white  frilled  caps.  They  always  danced  to- 
gether (very  rarely  with  a  man — it  is  not  etiquette 
for  them  to  dance  with  any  man  when  their  hus- 
bands or  lovers  are  at  sea),  their  hands  on  each 
other's  shoulders.  They  dance  perfectly  well  and 
keep  excellent  time  and,  I  suppose,  enjoy  them- 
selves, but  they  look  very  solemn  going  round 
and  round  until  the  music  stops.  Their  feet  and 
ankles  are  usually  small.  I  heard  an  explanation 
the  other  day  of  their  dark  skins,  clean  cut  features, 
and  small  feet.  They  are  of  Portuguese  origin. 
The  first  foreign  sailors  who  came  to  France  were 
Portuguese.  Many  of  them  remained,  married 
French  girls,  and  that  accounts  for  that  peculiar 
type  in  their  descendants  which  is  very  different 
from  the  look  of  the  Frenchwoman  in  general. 
There  are  one  or  two  villages  in  Brittany  where 
the  women  have  the  same  colouring  and  features, 
and  there  also  Portuguese  sailors  had  remained 
and  married,  and  one  still  hears  some  Portuguese 
names — Jose,  Manuel — and  among  the  women 
some  Annunziatas,  Carmelas,  etc.  We  had  a 
house  in  Brittany  one  summer  and  our  kitchen 
maid  was  called  Dolores. 

Cap  Gris  Nez. 
We  made  a  lovely  excursion  one  day  to  Cap  Gris 
Nez — ^just  at  the  end  of  a  wild  bit  of  coast  about 

[325] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

twenty-five  kilometres  from  Boulogne.  The  road 
was  enchanting  on  the  top  of  the  cliff  all  along  the 
sea.  We  passed  through  Vimereux,  a  small  bath- 
ing-place four  or  five  miles  from  Boulogne,  and 
one  or  two  other  villages,  then  went  through  a 
wild  desolate  tract  of  sand-hills  and  plains  and 
came  upon  the  lighthouse,  one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant of  the  coast — a  very  powerful  light  that  all 
inward-bound  boats  are  delighted  to  see.  There 
are  one  or  two  villas  near  on  the  top  of  the  cliff, 
then  the  road  turns  sharply  down  to  the  beach — 
a  beautiful  broad  expanse  of  yellow  sand,  reach- 
ing very  far  out  that  day  as  it  was  dead  low  tide. 

In  the  distance  we  saw  figures;  couldn't  dis- 
tinguish what  they  were  doing,  but  supposed  they 
were  fishing  for  shrimps,  which  was  what  our 
party  meant  to  do.  The  auto  was  filled  with  nets, 
baskets,  and  clothes,  as  well  as  luncheon  baskets. 
The  hotel — a  very  good,  simple  one — with  a 
broad  piazza  going  all  around  it,  was  half-way 
down  the  cliff,  and  the  woman  was  very  **com- 
plaisante"  and  helpful — said  there  were  plenty  of 
shrimps,  crabs,  and  lobsters  and  no  one  to  fish. 
She  and  her  husband  had  been  out  at  four  o'clock 
that  morning  and  had  brought  back  "quatre 
pintes"  of  shrimps.  No  one  knew  what  she 
meant,  but  it  was  evidently  a  measure  of  some 
kind.    I  suppose  an  English  pint.     She  gave  us  a 

[  326  ] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

cabin  where  the  two  young  matrons  dressed,  or 
rather  undressed,  as  they  reappeared  in  their 
bathing  trousers — which  stopped  some  little  dis- 
tance above  the  knee — ^very  short  skirts,  bare  legs, 
"  espadrilles "  on  their  feet,  and  large  Panama  hats 
to  protect  them  from  the  sun.  The  men  had 
merely  rolled  up  their  trousers.  They  went  out 
very  far — I  could  just  make  them  out — they 
seemed  a  part  of  the  sea  and  sky,  moving  objects 
standing  out  against  the  horizon. 

I  made  myself  very  comfortable  with  rugs  and 
cushions  under  the  cliff — I  had  my  book  as  I  knew 
it  would  be  a  long  operation.  It  was  enchanting — 
sitting  there,  such  a  beautiful  afternoon.  We  saw 
the  English  coast  quite  distinctly.  There  was  not 
a  sound — ^no  bathing  cabins  or  tents,  nobody  on  the 
shore,  but  a  few  fishermen  were  spreading  nets  on 
poles  to  catch  the  fish  as  the  tide  came  up.  The 
sea  was  quite  blue,  and  as  the  afternoon  lengthened 
there  were  lovely  soft  lights  over  everything;  such 
warm  tints  it  might  almost  have  been  the  Mediter- 
ranean and  the  Riviera.  A  few  fishing-boats 
passed  in  the  distance,  but  there  was  nothing  to 
break  the  great  stillness — not  even  the  ripple  of  the 
waves,  as  the  sea  was  too  far  out.  It  was  a  curious 
sensation  to  be  sitting  there  quite  alone — the  blue 
sea  at  my  feet  and  the  cliff  rising  straight  up  be- 
hind me. 

[  327  ] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

The  bay  is  small — two  points  jutting  out  on 
each  side,  completely  shutting  it  in.  There  are  a 
good  many  rocks — the  water  dashes  over  them 
finely  when  the  tide  is  high  and  the  sea  rough.  I 
got  rather  stiff  sitting  still  and  walked  about  a  little 
on  the  hard  beach  and  talked  to  the  fishermen. 
They  were  looking  on  amused  and  indulgently  at 
our  amateurs,  and  said  there  were  plenty  of  fish  of 
all  kinds  if  one  knew  how  to  take  them.  They 
said  they  made  very  good  hauls  with  their  nets  in 
certain  seasons — that  lots  of  fish  came  in  with  the 
tide  and  got  stranded,  couldn't  get  back  through 
the  nets.  One  of  them  had  two  enormous  crabs  in 
his  baskets,  which  I  bought  at  once,  and  we  brought 
them  home  in  the  bottom  of  the  auto  wrapped  up  in 
very  thick  paper,  as  they  were  still  alive  and  could 
give  a  nasty  pinch,  the  man  said. 

About  five,  I  thought  I  made  out  my  party  more 
distinctly;  their  faces  were  turned  homeward,  so 
I  went  to  meet  them  as  far  as  the  dry  sand  lasted. 
I  had  a  very  long  walk  as  the  tide  was  at  its  lowest. 
They  came  back  very  slowly,  stopping  at  all  the 
little  pools  and  poking  their  nets  under  the  rocks 
to  get  what  they  could.  They  had  made  a  very 
fair  basket  of  really  big  shrimps,  were  very  wet, 
very  hungry,  and  very  pleased  with  their  perform- 
ance. 

We  had  very  good  tea  and  excellent  bread  and 
[  328  ] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

butter  at  the  hotel.  They  gave  us  a  table  on  the 
piazza  in  the  sun  which  finished  drying  the  gar- 
ments of  the  party.  I  fancy  they  had  gone  in  deeper 
than  they  thought.  However,  salt  water  never 
gives  cold  and  nobody  was  any  the  worse  for  the 
wetting.  The  woman  of  the  hotel  said  we  ought 
to  go  to  see  a  fisherman's  hut,  on  the  top  of  the 
cliflF  near  the  lighthouse,  before  we  went  back. 
The  same  family  of  fishermen  had  lived  there  for  i^ 
generations,  and  it  was  a  marvel  how  any  one 
could  live  in  such  a  place.  We  could  find  our  way 
very  easily  as  the  path  was  marked  by  white  stones. 
So  we  climbed  up  the  cliff  and  a  few  minutes' 
walk  brought  us  to  one  of  the  most  wretched  habi- 
tations I  have  ever  seen:  a  little  low  stone  hut, 
built  so  close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  one  would 
think  a  violent  storm  must  blow  it  over — ^no  win- 
dows— a  primitive  chimney,  hardly  more  than  a 
hole  in  the  roof — a  little  low  door  that  one  had  to 
stoop  to  pass  through,  one  room,  dark  and  cold — 
the  floor  of  beaten  earth,  damp  and  uneven,  al- 
most in  ruts.  There  were  two  beds,  a  table,  two 
chairs,  and  a  stove — ^nondescript  garments  hanging 
on  the  walls — a  woman  with  a  baby  was  sitting  at 
the  table — another  child  on  the  floor — ^both  miser- 
able little,  puny,  weak-eyed,  pale  children.  The 
woman  told  me  she  had  six — all  lived  there — one 
man  was  sitting  on  the  bed  mending  a  net,  another 

[329] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

on  the  floor  drinking  some  black  stuff  out  of  a  cup 
— I  think  the  baby  was  drinking  the  same — two  or 
three  children  were  stretching  big  nets  on  the  top 
of  the  cliff — they,  too,  looked  miserable  little 
specimens  of  humanity,  bare-legged,  unkempt, 
trousers  and  jackets  in  holes ;  however,  the  woman 
was  quite  cheerful — didn't  complain  nor  ask  for 
money.  The  men  accepted  two  francs  to  drink 
our  health.  One  wonders  how  children  ever 
grow  up  in  such  an  atmosphere  without  light  or 
air  or  decent  food. 

The  drive  home  was  beautiful — not  nearly  so 
lonely.  Peasants  and  fishermen  were  coming 
back  from  their  work — women  and  children  driv- 
ing the  cows  home.  We  noticed,  too,  a  few  little, 
low,  whitewashed  cottages  in  the  fields,  almost 
hidden  by  the  sand-hills,  which  we  hadn't  seen 
coming  out. 

Hardelot. 
Hardelot  was  a  great  resource  to  us.  It  is  a  fine 
domain,  beautiful  pine  woods  running  down  to 
the  sea — a  great  stretch  of  green  meadow  and  a 
most  picturesque  old  castle  quite  the  type  of  the 
chateau-fort.  The  castle  has  now  been  trans- 
formed into  a  country  club  with  golf-links,  tennis, 
and  well-kept  lawns  under  big  trees  which  give 
a  splendid  shade  and  are  most  resting  to  the  eye 

[  330  ] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

after  the  glare  of  the  beach.  There  is  no  view  of 
the  sea  from  the  castle,  but  from  the  top  of  the 
towers  on  a  fine  day  one  just  sees  a  quiver  of  light 
beneath  the  sky-line  which  might  be  the  sea. 

The  chateau  has  had  its  history  like  all  the  old 
feudal  castles  on  the  sea-board  and  has  changed 
hands  very  often,  being  sometimes  French  and 
sometimes  English.  It  was  strongly  fortified  and 
resisted  many  attacks  from  the  English  before  it 
actually  came  into  their  possession.  Part  of  the 
wall  and  a  curious  old  gate-way  are  all  that  re- 
main of  the  feudal  days.  The  castle  is  said  to  have 
been  built  by  Charlemagne.  Henry  VIII  of  Eng- 
land lived  in  it  for  some  time,  and  the  prelimina- 
ries of  a  treaty  of  peace  between  that  monarch 
and  Fran9ois  I  were  signed  there — ^the  French  and 
English  ambassadors  arriving  in  great  state — with 
an  endless  army  of  retainers.  One  wonders  where 
they  all  were  lodged,  as  the  castle  could  never  have 
been  large — one  sees  that  from  the  foundations; 
but  I  fancy  habits  were  very  simple  in  those  days, 
and  the  suites  probably  slept  on  the  floor  in  one 
of  the  halls  with  all  their  clothes  on,  the  troop- 
ers keeping  on  their  jack-boots  so  long  that  they 
had  to  be  cut  off  sometimes — ^the  feet  and  legs  so 
swollen. 

The  drive  from  the  club  to  the  plage  is  charm- 
ing.     Sometimes    through    pretty    narrow    roads 

[331] 


CHATEAU  LIFE  IN  FRANCE 

with  high  banks  on  each  side,  with  hedges  on  top, 
quite  like  parts  of  Devonshire,  and  nice,  little,  low, 
whitewashed  cottages  with  green  shutters  and  red 
doors,  much  more  like  England  than  France. 

We  stopped  at  a  cottage  called  the  Dickens  House, 
where  Charles  Dickens  lived  for  some  time.  It  is 
only  one  story  high — white  with  green  shutters — 
stands  at  the  end  of  an  old-fashioned  garden  filled 
with  all  sorts  of  ordinary  garden-flowers — roses, 
hollyhocks,  larkspurs,  pinks,  all  growing  most 
luxuriantly  and  making  patches  of  colour  in  the 
green  surroundings.  We  saw  Dickens'  study,  his 
table  still  in  the  window  (where  he  always  wrote) , 
looking  over  the  garden  to  an  endless  stretch  of 
green  fields. 

The  plage  is  very  new.  There  is  a  nice  clean 
hotel,  with  broad  piazzas  and  balconies  directly  on 
the  sea  and  a  few  chalets  are  already  built,  but 
there  is  an  absolute  dearth  of  trees  and  shade. 
There  was  quite  a  strong  sea-breeze  the  day  we 
were  there,  and  the  fine  white  sand  was  blown  high 
into  the  air  in  circles,  getting  into  our  eyes  and  hair. 
There  is  a  splendid  beach — miles  of  sand — not  a 
rock  or  cliflf — absolutely  level.  The  domain  of 
Hardelot  belongs  to  a  company  of  which  Mr.  John 
Whitley  was  the  president.  He  had  concessions 
for  a  tramway  from  Boulogne  to  Hardelot  which 
will  certainly  bring  people  to  the  plage  and  club. 

[332] 


BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 

Now  there  is  only  an  auto-bus,  which  goes  very 
slowly  and  is  constantly  out  of  order;  once  the  club 
is  organized,  I  think  it  cannot  fail  to  be  a  charm- 
ing resort.  There  is  plenty  of  game  in  the  forest 
(they  have  a  good  piece  of  it),  perfect  golf  and 
tennis  grounds — as  much  deep-sea  fishing  as  one 
wants.  We  went  often  to  tea  at  the  chateau.  F. 
played  golf,  and  we  walked  about  and  sat  under 
the  trees,  and  the  children  were  quite  happy  play- 
ing on  the  lawns  where  they  were  as  safe  as  in 
their  nurseries. 


[333] 


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